Harry Potter and the Sorting Hat's Gift
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: Take a WBWL-verse, add in some Slytherin Harry with Voldemort's memories, and add just a dash of Parselmagic, and what do you get? Harry Potter and the Sorting Hat's Gift, Book 1 of the Saga of the Lightning Speaker.
1. Prologue: Siblings and Serpents

Hello, I'm Antares. This is my first HP fanfic, and I intend to turn it into a series. It'll involve the Founders and the history of Hogwarts, basilisks and Parselmouths, Slytherins and Gryffindors united- and against each other, prejudice and power, love and hate, and a prophecy that might or might not be true. Unfortunately, you don't get that now; this is just the prologue to the first book. It's kind of a summary of the first ten years of Harry's life. But you can read that by yourselves. So, without further ado, I present to you Book One of the Saga of the Lightning Speaker.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP. If I did, Harry would have been smarter and more independent. That's why I'm writing this fanfic!

* * *

_His coming is both gain and loss, _

_He rips the gold from out the dross, _

_He rides the winds, is by them tossed, _

_Oh, hope for twins, lest hope is lost! _

_The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

For as long as Harry Potter could remember, he had protected his younger brother.

Well, all right, Mark wasn't _that _much younger- he had been born just a few minutes after Harry- but the elder twin had always felt like Mark was much, much less capable than he was. Mark's bravery could put armies to shame, but Harry was the smarter, more capable brother. To be brutally honest, Mark needed Harry's protection; he just wasn't that bright. Or thoughtful. Or foresighted.

Harry was.

And so it was Harry who took all the worst chores; Harry who distracted Dudley's gang when they were chasing Mark; Harry who would create diversions when "Aunt" Petunia and "Uncle" Vernon were feeling particularly spiteful.

In fact, it was because of Harry's voluntary position as scapegoat that he met his closest friend. Sisith was intelligent and witty, with a great sense of humor and a unique outlook on life.

Sisith was also a garden snake, so Harry couldn't exactly introduce him to Mark. Mark hated snakes, had hated them ever since Sisith's mother had bitten him as a very small child.

The twins, then only four, had been banished outside for some small crime which Harry had long since forgotten. Bored, the brothers had sat down against the house, Harry on the ground, Mark on a snake.

Needless to say, neither Mark nor the snake had been very happy with the arrangement.

It had taken quite some time to stop Mark's screaming.

Harry had turned and shouted at the snake, yelling that it was just an accident and that she was a mean, mean snake for biting his brother. The snake, a slender black hatchling barely out of her nest, had gaped at him. Then she had replied that it was also very rude and mean for Mark to _sit on _her, thank you very much!

Part of the reason it had taken Mark so long to stop screaming was that it had also taken quite a while for Harry to regain his calm.

Petunia had not been happy with either of them. She had dragged them inside, shrieking at the top of her lungs and adding to the general cacophany.

But Lisse had hung around, curious about the young Parselmouth. Speakers, she had explained to Harry, were exceptionally rare. The last speaker she had heard of was a Lord Something-or-other, a magical madman who had completely destroyed the honor of serpents.

"Magic?" Harry had asked incredulously. "There's no such thing as magic!"

"Harry," Lisse had dryly pointed out, "you are talking to a snake."

Which effectively ended all their arguments about the existence of magic.

As soon as Harry recovered from the shock, he wanted to learn _everything_. He had always been a bright and inquisitive boy, and the discovery of a whole new world, a wonderful world without any Dursleys, ignited the fire of his curiosity into an inferno.

By the time Harry reached six, he had digested all of Lisse's meager knowledge of the magical world and was eager for more. His serpent friend, happy to oblige him, sought out other serpents, snakes with more knowledge of the hidden wizards. Since there were so few snakes in non-magical Britain- so few, in fact, that Muggles thought them extinct- this was rather difficult. Lisse persevered, though, and their knowledge grew by leaps and bounds. One of their informants hung around, and soon Lisse delivered their first brood of children. The year after that, when Harry and Mark were nine, Sisith was born.

Sisith and his siblings grew up in a magical environment, bombarded daily with information and rumors about the Wizarding World. Most of the young snakes, excited by the magic, soon left the nest for wizard territory. Sisith didn't. He liked Harry, he said, and intended to go with him when the Wizarding World finally claimed its own.

Harry's only regret about the entire situation was that he couldn't share it with Mark. His brother was quite irrational around serpents. Harry was forced to bite his tongue, bide his time, wait for the letters to wizard school that would inevitably come to them.

A wizard _school,_ he thought with a delicious shiver. A school that he and his brother could go to, a school with wands and secret passages and broomsticks and potions where they would finally be free of the Dursleys. He had had heard many "friend of a friend" stories about it: it was a huge castle, very far to the north; non-magical people (including Dursleys) weren't allowed in; an entire tower was populated by owls; the nearby forest, dark and beautiful, was home to a wide variety of magical creatures, each more wondrous than the last; and, most interesting to Harry, a basilisk lived beneath it.

A basilisk, the King of Serpents! That was perhaps the most exciting thought of all. Harry couldn't wait for his letter to arrive.

And sure enough, it did.

* * *

Monday. Unlike most children, Harry Potter loved Mondays. Mondays were Vernon's longest workdays. Mondays were Petunia's grocery shopping days. Mondays were Dudley's sit-in-front-of-the-telly-and-gape-at-it-until-you-drool-out-your-brain days. Harry and Mark had the house almost completely to themselves.

At least, they would once breakfast was over. Harry could never fathom why the Dursleys, with their hatred of the Potters, insisted on making the twins make breakfast for them. Weren't they afraid of poisoning? They probably only did it so they could order the twins about.

"Dudley, get the mail," Vernon commanded brusquely, not looking up from his paper.

Dudley, looking ridiculous in his new Smeltings uniform, began to whine. "Make one of them do it," he protested, scarfing down yet another plate of bacon.

Vernon shoved Harry out of his chair, still not looking up. "Boy, go get the mail."

Harry sighed silently. "Yes, uncle."

As usual, the mail was boring. A bill, another bill, letter from Marge…

And two letters, made of a strange, old kind of paper, embossed with a four-quartered seal.

Harry's breath caught; his heart froze. He'd never seen the symbol, but Lisse's northern relatives had described it time and time again. With trembling hands, he held one of the letters up to his face.

Lion, eagle, badger, snake, all surrounding an immense H…

The seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Somehow, Harry managed to swallow his shout of elation. It was finally here!

But what if the Dursleys saw it?

The thought was horrifying; Harry's heart nearly stopped. If they found it, they would take it away. He and Mark would never go to Hogwarts!

Harry shoved the letters under his shirt, next to his furiously beating heart. He trotted back into the kitchen, handed Vernon the remaining mail. Could they hear his heart pounding in his ears?

Evidently not. Vernon sorted through the letters, settled on the postcard from Marge. Harry didn't listen when he began to talk. Something about Marge being ill- good riddance.

No, Harry Potter was busy making plans, his brilliant brain running a thousand miles an hour. He'd have to tell Sisith… and Mark… he needed to contact the wizards without the Dursleys knowing…

Unnoticed by the Dursleys, a smile broke across Harry's face. Mark noticed and raised an eyebrow in question. Harry's smile grew broader.

_Soon,_ he promised himself. _Soon, wizards, we will come to you. _

* * *

Well, there it is. Next chapter, we go to Diagon Alley.

Read and review, folks!

-Antares


	2. Confrontation

I'm back! And I have reviews! That makes me so happy… I feel so loved… oceanlover14, to answer your question (I'm not entirely sure how to PM you yet… sorry) Mark didn't notice the snakes because Harry takes all the outside chores, gardening and such, just so that he can be with his friends. Also, Mark hates snakes like Indiana Jones- Harry tried to tell him as a kid, but Mark didn't believe him and Harry kind of just gave up. And you have to remember that Harry's conversations usually took place when he was gardening- it just looked like he was leaning over, just doing chores, and if his mouth was moving, who cares? He was trying to hide his abnormal behavior from the Dursleys and the neighbors- we all know how _they _would react. So no, Harry's been pretty surreptitious with his Parseltongue, which is why Mark (and anybody else) never noticed. Hope that clears it up. Oh yeah- thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Parseltongue would have a bigger part.

* * *

_He dreams about the better times_

_When hatred is the worst of crimes. _

_He breaks the world upon his knee, _

_Brings dreams into reality. _

-_The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

Harry was cleaning the kitchen when the giant came.

Ding, dong, the doorbell sang, and the Parselmouth's head jerked up. Ever since he'd "owled" the wizards, he'd been waiting for their response.

They were to send a wizard. A real, live wizard who would take him and Mark away from their nightmarish lives in the Dursleys' house and into their true destinies. Was this the time?

"BOY!" roared Vernon as the doorbell rang again. "GET THE DOOR!"

"Yes, uncle," Harry sighed, though secretly his heart was pounding in anticipation.

He opened the door…

…and came face to face with the largest man he'd seen in his life.

For a few seconds, he gaped. This guy was _huge! _

"Mark Potter?" the giant asked uncertainly.

Harry shook his head. "I'm his brother, Harry," he squeaked. He turned around. "Mark! C'mon over here! Someone's here to see you!" He held out his hand politely. "Your name, sir?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys of Hogwarts," the giant answered, taking Harry's hand.

Hogwarts! A grin split the younger wizard's face.

Mark came out- followed by Vernon. Harry suppressed a groan. This was not going to be pretty.

Sure enough, Vernon's face was already turning its signature shade of purple. He stared in mute horror at Hagrid, jaw sagging.

Hagrid turned to him, introduced himself amiably. "Sorry t' hear yeh couldn't take them to Diagon Alley yerself, Dursley," the giant commented.

The color drained so quickly from Vernon's face that Harry almost worried about a heart attack. "Diagon…" he whispered. "PETUNIA!"

No, not pretty at all.

Hagrid began to look nervous. "Er… I'll just be takin' the boys and goin', Dumbledore gave me the key ter their Gringotts vault…"

"Gringotts vault?" demanded Harry, wracking his brains. Wasn't Gringotts the wizard's bank or something? Then why did he and Mark have a vault in it? Their parents had been Muggles.

Hagrid smiled at him. "Yer parents left it for yeh. Lily and James; Hogwarts never had two better students." His immense eyes became misty.

Harry's voice was less than a whisper. "Mum and Dad were wizards too?" He had always thought that they weren't. After all, they had died in a car crash.

At that word, Vernon lost control completely. With a roar of rage, he lunged at Harry, hand raised to strike.

At that moment, several things happened.

Petunia came running from out of the kitchen; Dudley waddled downstairs; Hagrid roared, "HOW DARE YEH!" and whipped out a _pink umbrella,_ of all things; it emitted a banging noise and a burst of red light that hit Vernon in the chest; he fell backwards without even a groan. Petunia, seeing her husband unconscious and a behemoth in her doorframe, began to scream like a banshee. Dudley froze on the steps, a comical expression of horror making his features even more repulsive. Mark stared in amazement at Hagrid's umbrella, then flinched as the huge man turned towards him.

Harry was torn between laughter and panic. "Thanks," he said shakily to Hagrid.

The fuming giant took three huge steps into the house, right to the base of the stairs. "Shut yer whining," he ordered Petunia harshly. She shut her whining. Hagrid turned to Mark and Harry, looking heavily confused. "What did yeh mean, askin' about that?"

"Wizards are real?" Mark asked blankly, staring at Hagrid's umbrella. "And they use umbrellas? I thought they used wands!"

Hagrid exploded again, his anger igniting into an inferno. "Do yeh mean to tell me," he snarled at the prone form of Petunia, "that these boys- Harry and Mark Potter!- know _nothing_ about the Wizarding World?"

"The neighbors," Petunia whimpered, ever conscious of her social image.

Hagrid seemed ready to spontaneously combust. "They know _NOTHIN'!"_

Petunia whimpered. Mark whispered, "Harry showed me the letters from the Hogwarts place, but I thought he was joking." He stared longingly at Hagrid's umbrella. "I'm a wizard?"

"Yeh are," Hagrid confirmed gruffly. "And so's yer brother, and so were yer parents. Lily and James Potter, Muggles, pheh…" For a few seconds, he remained silent, a sulking volcano, ready to explode at any moment.

It was Harry who broke the silence. "If they were wizards," he asked softly, "then why did they die in a car crash?"

Mount Hagrid exploded, spewing lava all over the unfortunate Petunia. "CAR CRASH!" he howled. "Lily and James Potter, dyin' in a CAR CRASH! They were murdered, Dursley, and you know it!"

"Murdered?" Harry, Mark, and Dudley (whom Harry had almost forgotten was present; it was amazing how small the fatso could appear when he wanted to) simultaneously.

Now it was Petunia's turn to explode. "Yes, murdered!" she shrieked. "She got that letter when she was eleven, went off to that freak school where they turn toadstools into frogs! I was the only one who realized what she really was- a freak, just a freak in a freak school full of freaky subjects and freakier people! And then she married that Potter and got herself blown up and saddled us with _you two_, and I knew you'd be just as freakish, just as abnormal as they were. And now you've proven it!" She glared at all three wizards, an ugly flush spreading across her face.

Poor Hagrid was well past confusion. "Car crash?" he muttered to himself. Then he heaved a great, reluctant sigh. "I didn't want t' be the one to tell yeh… I thought yeh knew… but yeh can't go into our world without knowing. _Car crash…" _

He took a deep breath and began to tell them a story, one that both twins would hear many times in the next several years. He spoke of a Dark Lord whose name frightened grown men, who had soaked the ground in "impure" blood. He told them how this Lord had murdered Lily and James and then turned on their infant sons. He spoke of how Voldemort had attacked Mark, how the curse had rebounded onto him, how that rebounded curse had caused Voldemort to vanish…

"Some say he's dead. Codswallop, in my opinion. He's still out there, bidin' his time, gainin' his strength, waitin' to come back. But he's lost his powers: we all know that. Lotta people on his side came out from under trances, couldn't have done that if he were still strong. But something that night, something about you, Mark, finished him- not fer good, not even fer a century, but yeh've finished him for now, and the Wizarding World remembers. Yeh're famous. Mark Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!"

* * *

I thought this would get us to Diagon Alley, but this scene took up too much space. And anyways, I think I got a good ending in there.

Read and review, peoples. Next time, we'll really get into the Alley.

-Antares


	3. Curious

Hi, it's me again. I've finally gotten Harry, Mark, and Hagrid to Diagon Alley.

By the way, if you look at my reviews page you'll see that someone with my name wrote a very nice review of my work. THAT WASN'T ME! It was my sister; she just used the laptop when I was logged in to ti, which it why it looks like it was me. Thank you, sister mine, this chapter's dedicated to you!

Oceanlover14: Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that.

Flamelm: Don't worry. Your questions will be answered.

Arbitrary Doom: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you like this.

Disclaimer: Still don't own HP. Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just shamelessly taking advantage of it!

* * *

_He will seek the truth from the midst of lies. _

_He will hide his lies within the truth. _

_He will rip open the vault of knowledge_

_And its echoes will ravage the world. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

* * *

It was quite, quite obvious to Hagrid that Harry Potter was a consummate Ravenclaw.

They had scarcely left the Dursleys' lawn (leaving Vernon still unconscious behind them) before Harry turned on Hagrid and asked- almost begged- to be told about Hogwarts, about his parents, about wizards in general, about _anything _and _everything _that popped into his mind.

By the time they had entered the train to London, Hagrid had grown to love with Harry's exuberance. Their conversation, interrupted only to purchase tickets and get onto the train, quickly turned to Hagrid's area of expertise: magical beasts.

Needless to say, both of them were in Heaven.

Mark smiled to himself. _Typical Harry_, he mused. _Always curious. _His lips quirked in a smile, remembering a past incident involving Harry's curiosity, the microwave, and various foodstuffs.

Hagrid seemed happy as well, he noted; obviously Harry had found a fellow obsessive, at least where it came to magical beasts. At the moment, Hagrid was explaining his heartfelt desire to have a pet dragon.

"I have a question about dragons," Harry interrupted. Hagrid nodded, beamed at him as if at a star pupil. "Are they more like lizards or snakes?"

Mark grimaced at the mention of _those things._ Ugh. He despised, deplored, absolutely _hated _snakes!

Hagrid shrugged. "Not sure," he admitted. "They look more like winged lizards, but Parselmouths can understand them, so most people say snakes."

"Parselmouths?"

A dark look came over Hagrid's face. "Snake-speakers," he explained gruffly. "The mark of a dark wizard." His face blackened further. "You-Know-Who was a Parselmouth."

A chill ran over Mark's flesh at the mention of You-Know-Who. If Hagrid, so huge and formidable, was afraid to even speak You-Know-Who's name, then You-Know-Who must be really scary.

Harry jerked back as if struck, eyes wide, mouth slackening for just a moment.

Hagrid seemed to realize that he'd committed a misdemeanor. "Oh," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Harry." He laid a giant hand on Harry's shoulder.

They were silent for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Harry stepped gratefully into Diagon Alley, Mark following soon behind. The elder brother turned around and faced his twin. "Wow," he said admiringly. "I guess you really are famous." He grinned, teasingly slapped Mark on the back. "You'll remember the little people, right?"

"Course not," Mark answered jokingly. "What kind of a Boy-Who-Lived would I be if I did?" His eyes were shining, and a grin kept making its way onto his face. Harry smiled indulgently, glad that his brother had enjoyed himself. It was good for Mark to have some happiness in his life.

"Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid sighed, interrupting the playful bantering. The brothers shared one last grin, then actually looked at the Alley.

Two jaws dropped. Four eyes bulged. Four lungs let out an astonished gasp.

Diagon Alley was easily the most amazing thing either boy had ever seen in his short life.

A human garden wandered through the boulevard, all dressed in elegant robes. Navy, magenta, ink black, forest green: it seemed that Harry had walked into a shining, vibrant work of art. They spoke of things like wands and transfiguration and charms, words never spoken at Privet Drive. The wizards seemed like birds or exotic flowers; it was hard to believe they shared the Earth with the dull, drab Dursleys.

And the shops! The first one they passed was one hundred percent wizard, displaying hundreds of multihued cauldrons. Iron, bronze, silver, even a few masterpieces of solid gold ("Yeh can't get that, Mark, yeh haven't got the money."). There was an Apothecary that carried strange, foreign ingredients ("They're fer potions, Harry, yeh'll be goin' there after yeh get your money."). There was a shop displaying brooms of the kind Aunt Petunia would never use ("Sorry, boys, firs' years aren't allowed broomsticks. Mebbe next year.").

The Potter twins were enchanted. The wonders of Diagon Alley even washed away Harry's thoughts about Parseltongue and darkness.

And the crowning gem of it all was Gringotts, the wizards' bank, an immense silvery structure at the end of the Alley. Harry's head jerked around, desperately trying to take it all in before the bank swallowed him alive.

It was inside this white wonder that Harry was rudely returned to reality.

Harry and his brother had spent the past ten years being neglected and despised by the Dursleys. While physical violence had been relatively rare (except from Dudley), the twins' "family" had gone out of their way to belittle, humiliate, blame, and generally torment the Potter brothers. As such, they had taken on a certain wary, hunted posture.

Harry could see himself in the goblins.

He had always been more intelligent and perceptive than Mark, possibly because of his role as the younger's protector, and he could tell immediately that the goblins were treated like Potters in a Dursley home.

His mind, dazed by the wonders of Diagon Alley, sprang to life. If the goblins were the Potters, then who were the Dursleys?

The answer was obvious- and not one he wanted to think about. _Wizards. _

Harry sighed silently. Had he really thought that his world would be better than the world of Muggles? Yes and no. He'd known that any life away from his "relatives" would be better, and because of that had jubilantly anticipated his journey into this world, but he'd heard too many stories about wizards' prejudices and tyrannies from his snakes. They had told him many stories about "blood purity" and how magical beings were oppressed, but Harry had not wanted to believe them. He had known, in his head at least, that wizards were by and large the same as Muggles. Now the sight of the downtrodden goblins drove the lesson into his heart.

Harry flinched, ashamed of himself. For a few minutes- a few wonderful, sparkling minutes- he had let himself be seduced by the beauty of this world. He had almost forgotten that wizards, too, were human, and therefore subject to human faults and flaws.

"Judge not a man by how he treats his superiors, but by how he treats his inferiors." The proverb worked with wizards as well.

Sympathy grew around Harry's heart, along with a kinship. In a way, he and the goblins were one and the same.

One of the goblins walked over to the trio. Griphook. There was a haughty pride in him, tempered and poisoned by the bitterness of defeat.

It was at this moment that Harry Potter made the choice which would guide the rest of his life. As he had protected his twin in their childhood, so would he protect each and every downtrodden being, be it goblin or werewolf or centaur. He could fight, and would fight, and would continue to fight, until every last person was free from this racial hatred, until there were no inferiors, but a great company of equals.

* * *

Somewhere far to the north, a great head looked up and blinked. Something had awakened her from her slumber, something magical, something powerful. She looked around to see who had entered her domain but saw no one.

The being's heart pounded in her breast. A highly magical creature, she was attuned to the makeup of the world, and something- the same something which had awakened her- had just rippled through it.

She looked around again, breathless, hopeful, terrified. Was it finally time?

* * *

Harry chuckled to himself. He knew perfectly well that his oath had been ridiculous. Utterly, utterly ridiculous. "Great company of equals?" He was eleven, for crying out loud!

Well, he mused, even if he couldn't (and he couldn't) fulfill his promise of five seconds ago, he could still capture the gist of it. He hadn't been able to save his brother from the Dursleys, but he had made their lives better. Harry would do the same thing here, in the Wizarding World.

Now, how could he address this goblin? The same way he would like to be addressed: politely and respectfully, but without being patronized; friendly and open, without being overweening; neither condescending nor wheedling, but like... like… like an equal.

"Mr. Griphook," Harry said as politely as he could, "may ask you a question?"

The goblin frowned at him. "You just did. Get in the cart."

Ignoring Hagrid's groan, Harry tried again. "All right then, may I ask you a third question?"

The goblin shrugged. Harry decided to interpret that as a good thing. "Thank you. Would you tell me about Gringotts, then? I'm Muggle-raised, you see, and don't know much about it."

It seemed that Harry had picked the right topic. Griphook warmed up immediately. "Gringotts was founded in the year 753 A.D. after Goreclaw's Rebellion was put down. Since then, we have subsumed and absorbed all other wizard banks. Each Gringotts building is more secure than any three Ministries of Magic combined…"

Harry, ever the information hound, listened with fascination as Griphook detailed the history of the bank. As he listened, he noted Griphook's contempt for wizards. Well, Harry hated the Dursleys; he could understand.

"One more question, sir," Harry begged as their cart neared the exit. "Are there any other businesses run by goblins? I've noticed that you have excellent service, and-" He froze. Griphook's expression had become flat, blank.

"No," the goblin replied shortly. "Good day."

* * *

Mark and Hagrid looked on in amusement as Harry struggled to carry his luggage. "Sure you've got enough books, bro?" Mark teased.

"There is a library at Hogwarts," Hagrid pointed out.

"I know," Harry replied, "I asked you about it, remember? And you didn't know which books it did and didn't have, so I was stuck guessing what I should get!"

"Tragic," muttered Mark.

Harry stuck out his tongue. He hadn't intended to buy any books but the required reading, but then one very special book had caught his eye. _The History of Parseltongue._ Knowing that Hagrid would notice if he just got one book, Harry had happily procured some more. Quite a few more, actually. He just hoped he'd be able to carry them.

"Well," chuckled Hagrid, clearly amused, "there's jes one thing left: Ollivanders."

"Who's Ollivanders?" asked Mark.

His brother, though, had a good idea. "We haven't gotten wands yet. Is he the wandmaker?"

Their guide laughed. "Right yeh are, Harry! He's the best wandmaker in the Wizarding World. Bit creepy, though."

"Bit creepy" was an understatement. The wandmaker was pale and gangly, with an intense gaze and too-bright eyes. He ignored the Potter twins (Mark seemed rather put out), instead reciting the history and ingredients of Hagrid's destroyed wand. Then he turned to the boys, talked about their parents' wands, and finally asked which was the elder.

Stiff and nervous, Harry stepped forward.

The next several minutes passed in a frenzy of wood and miniature disasters. Beech, ash, cottonwood, dragon heartstrings, yew, laurel, maple, oak, buckthorn, unicorns...

Then the old wizard placed a new wand in Harry's hand, and he knew it was the one. Smiling, the boy waved the wand, _his _wand, and grinned at the resultant silver sparks.

"Curious," murmured Mr. Ollivanders.

"What's curious?" Harry asked. He didn't like the old man's tone.

"What's curious, Mr. Potter," Ollivanders replied softly, his pale eyes boring into Harry's green ones, "is that the phoenix whose feather is in your wand gave one other feather- and that feather gave your brother his scar."

Harry's jaw dropped. Mark gasped, clearly horrified. Ollivanders, oblivious to the commotion he'd caused, continued. "Yes, we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter- for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible things, yes, but still great."

For a few seconds, the Potter twins and Mr. Ollivanders remained in a tense silence. Then the old man turned to Mark. "Your turn, Mr. Potter."

Mark gulped. Harry couldn't blame him. He wasn't sure he wanted this wand…

"Birch and unicorn hair, springy- no, no- ash and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches- no, no- mistletoe and the heartstring of a Welsh green dragon, nine and three-quarter inches-"

Sparks shot out of the wand in Mark's hand, lighting the store with red and gold. Mr. Ollivanders looked startled. "Curious," he muttered again.

Neither boy asked him to elaborate.

* * *

Chapter 3, my longest chapter yet. I feel good about that.

I know that you've probably got boatloads of questions after this, like who the "she" was and why Mark's wand is curious. I'm afraid you'll have to wait to find out about the "she," but if you have nothing better to do, you can go learn about Mark's wand. It is very, _very _symbolic of Mark's role in the Wizarding World.

Read and review!

-Antares


	4. The Missing Toad

Hey, I'm back again. And I'm sorry if there is something wrong with the formatting. The laptop is in the shop, so I'm stuck using the prehistoric desktop that we never bothered to trash. Again, I apologize for any weirdness that might result.

Flamelm: How did you guess? I can't have been that obvious…

This chapter is dedicated to oceanlover14, who has somehow managed to review every chapter without insulting me once.

Disclaimer: I have never, do not, and won't ever own Harry Potter.

_

* * *

_

Come, o Speaker, come into the world;

_Walk into the spider's web. _

_This is the first of your choices: _

_Will its spinning entangle you _

_Or will you rip through its plans? _

-_Battles, _Godric Gryffindor

Harry Potter had learned long ago how to move without being noticed. In his mind, his trick of walking unseen served several purposes. It kept the Dursleys from seeing him, it allowed him to sneak out for a walk, and it helped him visit Sisith and Lisse and their family.

It was for the latter purpose that Harry was leaving the house.

His friends were waiting for him, their black bodies gleaming in the moonlight. Harry quietly shut the door behind himself and padded out to meet them.

"Well?" demanded Lisse. "Tell us about Diagon Alley." She blinked, noticing for the first time what Harry was carrying on his arm. She opened her mouth to ask, but Sisith beat her to it.

"Why is there an owl riding on you?" the serpent asked.

Harry grinned. "This is Hedwig," he answered. "Hagrid- he's the huge man who came earlier today to pick us up- he gave Mark and me two owls as birthday presents! He let us choose which one we wanted. I picked Hedwig, and he picked this huge eagle owl that he named Jimmy." He set Hedwig down and beamed at her. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Hedwig preened. Sisith and his family dutifully agreed that yes, she was beautiful.

Then they got down to the important business of interrogating Harry.

Laughing, the young wizard responded to their questions. Yes, Diagon Alley was incredible. He had gotten Potions ingredients and a cauldron and robes and dragonhide gloves and all sorts of cool things. Then, more subdued, he told them the story about Voldemort ("Oh, _that _was the other Parselmouth's name," muttered Sisith's father, Zill) and how Mark had defeated him. It was at this point that he froze, not knowing how to continue.

"Go on, Harry," urged the entire family of snakes. Hedwig hooted in agreement.

Harry sighed, staring down at his feet. "My wand and his- they both got their cores from the same phoenix," he confessed quietly.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Harry, still not looking up, reflected on what a strange picture they made: a small boy in pajamas with an owl on his shoulders, letting a dozen black snakes crawl over his legs.

"Well," Zill said finally, "I guess that makes sense."

"Makes sense!" For a second Harry forgot to be silent; he had shouted the words. He froze, listening for any sign that someone had awakened, but the world remained bereft of human sounds.

"Of course it makes sense," Lisse said sternly. "You're both Parselmouths, remember? It's perfectly logical that your wand and his would match." She rubbed her head against his side, comforting him. "It doesn't mean that you have anything else in common with him. Harry, we all know that you're not evil."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, deeply relieved. "I was so afraid…" He shuddered, did not continue.

His snakes were quick to assure him that no, he had nothing in common with Voldemort; how could he even _think _that? It was the most ridiculous thing they'd ever heard! They were so enthusiastic that Harry burst out laughing (softly, of course). "Thanks," he repeated.

"Anything else you wanted to tell us?" asked Sisith.

Harry blinked at him innocently. "Should there be?"

Sisith gave the snake's equivalent of a smirk. "You always save the best part for last, and I doubt that your Dark Lord delusions qualify as 'the best part.'"

"Weeeelll…" Harry drawled, "there might be a few other things…"

"Keep drawing this out and I'll bite you."

"I found a book on Parseltongue," the wizard said in a rush. "I mean, you all have taught me a lot, but there are some things I just have to learn from wizards." He grinned, a bit embarrassed. "It's probably horribly biased- they think that Parsetongue is 'the mark of a Dark Wizard'- but I'd like to learn more about other Parselmouths."

Fortunately, no one seemed offended. In fact, now that Harry's report was finished, they seemed smug, almost secretive.

Harry was instantly on the alert. "All right, what are you all grinning about?"

Their grins got wider. "Grinning?" Sisith asked innocently. "Who's grinning?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. The snakes knew enough about human body language to realize he wasn't buying it.

Sisith sighed. "You're no fun."

"Sorry."

The snake snorted. "No you're not. You're insufferable."

"What was it you said earlier about biting people who don't get on with it?" Harry teased.

"No fun at all."

"Sisith," barked Lisse, "just tell him."

Sisith drew back, raised his upper body in a position of alertness- or smugness. "Well, you didn't take me to Diagon Alley with you."

Harry frowned at him. "I couldn't possibly have gotten you without Mark or Hagrid noticing, and you _know _how my brother feels about snakes."

"You're going to make it up to me," Sisith announced.

"Oh? And how am I going to do that?"

All of the snakes were beaming at him. Anyone else would have found it quite creepy.

"Simple," Sisith replied. "You're going to take me with you to Hogwarts."

* * *

"Nine and three-quarters, nine and three-quarters," muttered Mark, lugging his trunk behind him. He glared in frustration at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. "There _is _no platform nine and three-quarters!"

"Shut _up,_" Harry hissed. "People are staring!" But he, too, was frustrated. Mark was right. The blasted platform didn't exist!

"Maybe," suggested Sisith, "you have to tap it?" The snake, wound around Harry's neck and shoulders like a demented boa, sounded doubtful.

"Excuse me, dears?" asked a kind voice. The twins turned around to face a red-haired woman and- whoa, how many children did she have! One, two, three, four, five. Five kids!

Mark forced a sickly grin onto his face. "Sorry, ma'am. It's kind of an inside joke." He was trying not to think about how the train would leave in less than fifteen minutes.

"Mark," Harry said, interrupting his brother's babbling, "they have an _owl_."

Mark's eyes bulged. The family of redheads did, indeed, have an owl.

Harry turned to the woman with a sheepish grin on his face. "Can you help us? It's our first time at Hogwarts, you see, and we don't know how to get onto the platform."

She smiled at them. "Don't worry. All you need to do is walk straight through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Percy, show the boys how it's done." The tallest redhead obediently walked straight into the barrier- and vanished.

The Potter twins gasped.

"Thanks," Harry said nervously, looking at the very solid-seeming barrier. From his perch on Harry's shoulders, Sisith hissed, "We have to go _through _something?" Harry didn't answer. He felt the exact same way.

"Together, then?" Mark asked, eyeing the barrier apprehensively. Harry nodded.

The woman eyed them sympathetically. "Best go at a bit of a run, dears," she advised.

The twins glanced at each other. Mark shrugged as if to say, _Well, what can you do? _Harry grinned back.

Side by side, the twins started to walk- then jog- then run, almost losing control of their bags- the barrier loomed ahead of them like a monstrous mountain, impassible- they were going to hit it- they couldn't stop-

And they were through. Sisith's swearing rang in Harry's ears, making him laugh with relief. "It wasn't that scary," Mark commented, but he was clearly relieved too. "Wimp."

Harry looked at the time and gasped out loud. "We've just got five minutes!"

Yanking their luggage from off the ground, the twins ran towards the train.

"Need help?" Harry and Mark turned around to see the red-haired woman's twin sons. Mark nodded gratefully. Their bags were very heavy.

"Fred Weasley," said the first redhead.

"George," the other proclaimed. Grimacing, he forced Harry's trunk onto the train. "What've you got in there, rocks?"

Mark laughed while Harry blushed. "Harry's just a bookworm," the younger twin explained fondly. "You should've seen him at Flourish and Blotts." Harry snorted.

"Phew," gasped Fred as he shoved Mark's trunk onto the baggage corner.

Mark nodded, moved away so Harry and George could deposit his trunk. "Oh yeah," he agreed, wiping his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

Fred froze, his eyes locked on Mark's forehead.

On his scar, to be exact. A small but noticeable V, the remnants of Voldemort's failed Killing Curse.

"No way!"

"Are you-" George began.

"He is!"

Mark hid his smile. "Mark Potter," he said amiably.

"Whoa."

"_Wicked._"

They gaped unashamedly at his scar. Mark basked in their attention.

"This won't end well," Sisith muttered into Harry's ear.

"I know," Harry whispered back. It seemed to him that Mark was enjoying this a little _too _much. Well, he reminded himself, it's probably just the novelty of being treated like a hero instead of like dirt.

If only he believed himself…

If Harry had thought that the Weasley twins were bad, their brother Ron was even worse. He came in a few minutes later with the ridiculous story that no other compartment was available. "Fool boy," Sisith muttered irritably. "I've seen how big this train is. It could fit hundreds more than it holds!"

Mark didn't seem to think so. He seemed completely enchanted with his new follower, evidently mistaking a fan for a friend. Soon, both boys were deep in conversation about their respective families- completely ignoring Harry.

The elder Potter was beginning to feel a bit lonely. Was this the way it would be, then, forever in Mark's shadow, ignored by everyone except as the Boy-Who-Lived's brother? Would his identity be completely subsumed by Mark's?

_No way,_ he promised himself. _I'll be my own person. I'll make the name of Harry Potter just as famous as Mark's. I will be great. _

"I think I'll go for a walk," he announced. Mark and Ron looked up, apparently startled that he was still in the compartment.

Harry wandered the train for a while, noting idly that there were, indeed, several unfilled compartments. Soon, he came across a bushy-haired girl and a round-faced boy who were looking for a toad. Harry decided to help.

"When's the last time you saw your toad?" he asked Neville, the round-faced boy.

"On the platform," Neville answered miserably.

Harry blinked. "Are you sure-" he began.

"We're sure that it got onto the train," sighed Hermione, the bushy-haired girl. She had apparently heard this question several times before.

"All right," muttered Harry, "why don't we check the bathrooms? If I were a toad, I'd like to be somewhere nice and damp."

Neville and Hermione glanced dubiously at each other. "It's worth a shot," Neville muttered hopefully. Hermione nodded.

It turned out that Harry was right. Hermione found Trevor the toad in the fourth bathroom she searched. Neville was ecstatic. Then he realized something. He blinked at Harry and said, "You've just saved my toad, but I don't even know your name." He looked embarrassed. Behind him, Hermione turned beet red.

"Harry Potter."

"As in _Mark Potter?" _gasped Neville.

"I'm his twin."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I've read all about your brother!" she exclaimed. "He's in _Modern Magical History _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century,_ but I've never heard that he had a twin!" She frowned. "Why didn't you _tell _us you were Mark Potter's brother?"

"Because I'm more than just my brother's twin," Harry snapped waspishly. "Even people associated with celebrities are still individuals." He glared at her, daring her to challenge him.

Both of Harry's companions were mortified. "Oh," mumbled Hermione. "I'm sorry… I sometimes talk before I think." Neville nodded in agreement.

Harry sighed, his anger spent. "I'm sorry, too," he confessed. "It's just that all day I've been hearing that, and it would be nice if people thought I was more than just the Boy-Who-Lived's brother. I am my own person, you know."

"Well," said Neville awkwardly, "did you want to sit with us?"

Harry was amazed. "Yeah," he answered softly, "that would be great." Did this mean they were friends? He'd never had any human friends (besides Mark, but Mark was his brother. It was different.).

They spent the rest of the train ride in a blissful discussion of Herbology.

* * *

Sorry, Ron lovers, but it's just not possible that there was only one empty compartment, even in canon. The Hogwarts Express is a big train. It has to be so that it can take in hundreds, maybe even a thousand students. There's no way that Harry and Ron sat down in the only empty compartment in the entire train.

Also, I don't trust the Harry-meets-Weasleys scene in the first canon book. Mrs. Weasley was a pureblooded witch with two older brothers and seven children, all of whom went to Hogwarts. There's no way she could have forgotten that you go to platform nine and three-quarters. My theory is that Dumbledore asked her to play dumb, supposedly so that she could attract the attention of any nervous Muggleborns and help them get onto the train, but really so that she could get canon Harry in contact with Ron.

Yes, Dumbledore. This is a manipulative Dumbledore story. Snape's not going to be very nice either. Sorry, all ye fans, but that's the way it is.

That being said, please read and review.

-Antares


	5. Gift and Curse

Thank you so much if you reviewed! I have sixteen reviews now, and it's really making me feel good.

GinnyLover14: I'm sorry, but Harry in Slytherin is an important part of the plot. However, he's really about half-Ravenclaw and half-Slytherin.

My Solitude: No, Mark's wand does not signify that he is a protector. Try looking at the symbolism of the wandwood, the core, and the length individually.

Oceanlover14: Thanks for pointing out my mistake. However, I think I have an explanation for that. There were probably a lot of first years entering Hogwarts that year, because they would have been born a few months after the war ended. It's kind of like the baby boomers here in America. However, I admit that it's not supported by canon; I'm just giving pure speculation that is going to be stated later on.

Phantombrick: I think that Mrs. Weasley and the twins were genuine in their debuts, but I think that Mrs. Weasley had received instructions from Dumbledore to play dumb about the compartment. Thanks for agreeing with me.

This chapter is dedicated to the ingenious flamelm.

* * *

_From his foes he takes his power. _

_From the cursed gift he gains his wings. _

_-Battles, _Godric Gryffindor

"Harry!"

With a grin splitting his face, Harry turned around. Mark, Ron and two other boys were coming up to him. "Hey, Mark. Hello, Ron. These are Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom."

Ron nodded absently. Mark looked sideways at Harry's two new friends. For a few seconds, everyone greeted each other, the two strangers introducing themselves as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Then Neville asked, "Do you four know where we're supposed to go?"

As if to answer his question, a voice called out, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Neville, Hermione, and Ron, who had never seen Hagrid before, gaped at the huge man giving orders. "He's _big,"_ whispered Neville with something like awe.

Harry and Mark grinned at each other. "C'mon," ordered the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Firs' years over here!" Hagrid continued to call. "Watch yer step, we've got a bend coming up! Yeh'll get yer first sight of Hogwarts jus' round it!"

The five children, as well as dozens of their peers, rounded the bend- and gasped out loud.

Diagon Alley had been fascinating, but Hogwarts was _magnificent. _

Like a fairy castle, it loomed ahead of them, a crown atop a mountain. Turrets and towers, scattered randomly throughout the behemoth, glistened and gleamed as their windows reflected the light of the moon and stars. The entire silhouette of the school bespoke majesty, dignity, power.

Then Hagrid's voice, calling "No more'n four per boat!" shattered the spell which Hogwarts had cast on its first years.

Harry glanced at Mark, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Hermione, and Neville. Then he looked down at himself. There were seven of them- eight, if he counted Sisith (he didn't).

They had a problem.

Mark looked embarrassed. "I, er, kind of, well…" He blushed. "promised Ron and Dean and Seamus that I'd go all the way to the school with them."

Harry blinked, startled. He'd always imagined going to Hogwarts with his brother. The realization that he would not hurt him more than he expected.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Well, I guess you can't break a promise."

A relieved grin broke over Mark's face. Harry's hurt intensified. "Meet you there."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew he was overreacting, but a lump had formed in his throat and his eyes had begun to sting. A part of him was glad that Mark was making knew friends so quickly, but a larger part was suspicious and jealous- not of Mark, but of the three boys who were taking him away from Harry.

Even worse, in the pit of his stomach he felt that Mark's abandonment boded very ill for their tenure at Hogwarts. He wasn't superstitious, but this seemed ominous, frightening even.

Hermione's hand touched his shoulder. "We'll go with you," she said sympathetically. She smiled, tried to tease him. "I wouldn't want our conversation on Herbology to come to an end."

Harry smiled gratefully and climbed with her onto Neville's boat, but he did not take a large role in their conversation.

As he rode in the boat, gazing at the magnificent shape of Hogwarts, he reflected on how similar and different Hermione and Neville's interests Herbology were (anything was better than thinking that his brother had rejected him, abandoned him). They both adored the subject, but Hermione's adoration came from her love of knowledge, and Neville's from his love of plants. Hermione probably would excel in every subject, but Neville would most likely specialize in Herbology and its sister subject, Potions. He wondered which one he would be most like. Would he be a jack-of-all-trades like Hermione, or an ultra-talented specialist like Neville?

Well, Harry decided, he would just have to wait and see.

* * *

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the stern-faced woman named Professor McGonagall. "I know that you are all tired and hungry. However, before you eat, you must be Sorted into one of Hogwarts' four Houses. These Houses are Gryffindor, of which I am the Head, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its strengths and its weaknesses, and each has produced a wide variety of talented witches and wizards. The Houses of Hogwarts engage in a points competition. Your accomplishments will gain House points; your failures and rule-breakings will lose you House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in just a few more minutes, when the other students have arrived at the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up while you are waiting." She looked pointedly at Ron's dirty nose.

The second McGonagall left, the first years erupted into conversation. "How d'you reckon they Sort us?" Mark asked nervously.

"Some sort of test," the redhead answered. "My brother Fred said it hurts a lot."

On Harry's other side, Hermione was whispering very quickly about which spells they would need, something which did not escape Neville's notice. The round-faced boy looked ready to be sick.

"It's not going to be a spelling contest," Harry quickly reassured him. "No one's had time to learn anything!"

Neville looked relieved, but Hermione didn't seem completely convinced. She tried to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of a group of ghosts from out of the wall. The ghosts were arguing about something called "Peeves"- at least until they noticed the students. Then they began to enthusiastically greet the first years.

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and two other students were the only ones to respond.

"Into the Hall, now," barked McGonagall's sharp voice. "The Sorting's about to begin."

Harry suddenly remembered what Ron had said about pain. Neville turned a nasty shade of green.

"It can't be that bad," the Parselmouth whispered to him- and himself. "I mean, it has to be something legal, right? They can't just go around torturing eleven-year-olds!" He patted his friend on the back. "It's probably something really easy, something a baby could do."

Harry was right. All they had to do was try on a hat. A talking, singing Sorting Hat.

Sisith, who had never been in any danger from the Sorting Ceremony, howled with laughter.

Harry bit back his retort, remembering how much wizards disliked Parselmouths. He didn't know how Neville or Hermione felt about snakes.

"As I call your name, come put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," McGonagall explained. "Abbot, Hannah!"

A blond girl stumbled up, put on the hat. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the hat's brim opened wide and it screamed "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry."

"RAVENCLAW!"

A new, horrifying thought took hold of Harry's mind. What if the hat told everyone that he was a Parselmouth?

The idea was so sickening that he didn't see Mark's friend Seamus get sorted into GRYFFINDOR! and almost didn't notice when Hermione was called up. She practically ran to the hat, jammed it onto her head, and awaited its decision with an eager expression on her face. It remained there for almost two minutes, the longest it had stayed on anyone so far. Then,

"RAVENCLAW!"

Harry, Neville, and the Ravenclaw table went wild.

Soon it was Neville's turn. Like it had with Hermione, the hat took a long time to decide to Neville. When it finally proclaimed him a GRYFFINDOR!, Neville almost ran off while still wearing it. Only Harry's furious gesturing prevented that from happening.

"Patil, Padma… Patil, Parvati… Perks, Sally-Anne…"

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, people began hissing to each other like so many snakes.

"Potter, did she say?"

"As in _Mark_ Potter?"

"No, stupid, that's _Harry _Potter."

"Maybe they're related…"

"I wonder if he could introduce us?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived's brother!"

Harry was really getting sick of that appellation.

The last thing he saw before the hat covered his eyes was the crowd gaping at Mark, and his brother soaking it all up.

"Well," said a small voice, like a buzzing insect, "you're a difficult one. You have plenty of courage, good for Gryffindor, but you have a survival instinct too, and no Gryffindor has the survival instinct of a lapdog. That rules that out.

"Very hardworking, and loyal too, but only to those who have earned your loyalty. Innately dishonest, I see, totally unafraid to lie, so definitely not Hufflepuff.

"Ravenclaw… oh, you would be wonderful there; your mind is possibly your greatest gift. However, you gain knowledge so you can use it to further your goals; that's a Slytherin characteristic. You've got ambition, too, you don't want to be just your brother's shadow, and lots of talent… Perfectly balanced between two Houses, I haven't had a conundrum like this for decades…"

The hat hesitated. "D'you mind if I take a closer look?" it asked hopefully.

_Sure, _Harry answered. He was so relieved the hat hadn't revealed his secret that he was happy to let it take a "closer look."

The hat's "closer look" felt very much like a small mammal burrowing into Harry's mind. The hat touched momentarily on his deepest, earliest memories, and then went further still.

Green light- pain- a woman screaming-

The Sorting Hat gasped. There was awe in its voice, and wonder. "Yes!" it exulted silently.

_What is it? _Harry demanded uncomfortably.

The hat was quiet. Harry had the distinct impression that it was thinking hard about something considerably more important than a mere Sorting.

He was right.

"Listen," it said quickly, hurriedly, in the tone of someone racing to do something before he changed his mind, "I have a proposition for you."

_Go on. _

"I can give you something- an ability, not a gift, for it's as much a curse as gift. If you accept it, you will become great- but at great cost."

For a few seconds Harry was tormented by indecision. Whatever the Sorting Hat was offering, it was tempting- and terrifying.

Then a thought came into his mind. _Mark. _If this… whatever it was… could protect his brother, then it was worth it.

And there were others, too: the goblins at Gringotts, other Parselmouths, anyone and everyone he'd vowed to help in Diagon Alley…

_I'll do it, _he whispered silently.

* * *

Somewhere nearby, the same entity which had sensed his life's promise jerked awake, her somnolent state evaporating instantly. The world had shifted again, she knew- but for good or for ill, she knew not.

* * *

The Sorting Hat's mental prowess plunged through Harry's mind, ripping open a place that had long remained shut. Lightning-shaped pain exploded in his forehead; his scar was a brand of agony. It was a miracle he didn't scream.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"A gift," the hat panted. "A gift, that you might look in the face of evil and reject it."

That sounded ominous.

The hat continued its monologue. "Work on your Occlumency- you'll know how. Don't trust Dumbledore or Snape; don't look them in the eye. They're both Legilimens, and not afraid to use it. Remember the words of your Parseltongue book- you are not evil. And lastly, Harry Potter, make good on the oath you swore in Gringotts. Break our world and free us from it!" There was desperation in its voice, but also hope.

_Hey, _he demanded silently, _what're you- _

"Tell no one about this!" the Sorting Hat cried. "No one!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

"Ah, Severus, come in. Lemon drop?"

"No." Snape glowered at his employer.

"What irritates you, Severus?" That maddening twinkle was in his eyes. Snape wanted to throttle him.

"That Potter brat!" the professor ranted. "In _my _House!"

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "No one was more surprised than I."

Snape snorted. "No, no one was less surprised than you were." His eyes narrowed. "I presume, Headmaster, that this is why you wanted to see me?"

Dumbledore nodded, his face displaying a cold smile. "This is a good thing. No, Severus, hear me out-" for the Potions Master seemed ready to explode- "it is _very _good. The Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry is famous, you know."

"Not between brothers," Snape growled.

The headmaster suppressed a sigh. "Severus," he announced bluntly, "I want you to favor Harry Potter."

The resultant explosion very nearly demolished Dumbledore's entire office.

When Snape's temper tantrum was finished, he coldly asked, "Is there a reason you expect me to _favor _the _spawn _of _James Potter?_"

"Yes," the headmaster replied. "Kindness is often cruelty, and cruelty kindness."

"Speak plainly," Snape ordered.

Dumbledore sighed. For a Slytherin, Snape wasn't very cunning.

"If you favor the elder Potter," he explained slowly, "the younger will grow to resent him. They love each other very much, Severus. Hagrid reports that Harry is Mark's lifeline. It would be much to my advantage if that lifeline were… snapped."

Snape was deep in thought. Finally he smiled. "Yes," the former Death Eater muttered, "it is the better way." Eyes glittering, he exited the office.

A cold smile lined his face. For what better vengeance was there than driving the Potter twins apart?

* * *

Told ya this wouldn't be for Dumbledore or Snape fans. If you like them, turn back now!

Did you notice that Harry thought Neville would be good at Potions? He has a lot to learn…

Next chapter, classes start, and Harry meets some new friends.

Read and review, everybody!

-Antares


	6. Trouble in the Dorms

Hello, Antares here!

Killing Curse Eyes: Sorry, but Snape is going to be nasty. In the books, he was an immature, petty, cruel little man who only saved Harry's life because he owed James a debt. The life-saving was grudging. I'm going to portray him like that.

Jesusfreak100percent: Yeah, I know that it's overdone in both senses of the word. The WBWL thing has been done so many times that it's not even funny. I think that that's why I'm starting out with it: I want to try to freshen the plotline up, and if I fail, well, everyone's read bad WBWL stories. And yeah, I made the poem/prophecy thingies up.

Oceanlover14: Nope, that's not what the Hat gave him. What the Hat gave him will _enable _him to "look in the face of evil and reject it," nothing more. It's just like how a book will enable you to gain knowledge, but not force you to do so.

Another warning: this ain't for Malfoy fans either.

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. Honestly, how many fanfic writers do? And I forgot my disclaimer last chapter, so I didn't own in then, either.

* * *

_Gold from dross and dross from gold: _

_He is the one who was foretold. _

_Serpent friends and serpent foes: _

_Will they kill him? No one knows. _

_-The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

Sisith was getting worried.

Harry hadn't been himself since putting the Sorting Hat on. He seemed distant, absent, all through the Welcoming Feast. He hadn't said a word, but wasn't eating either; just picking at his meal.

What in the world had that talking hat said to him?

* * *

Harry's head felt so strange.

Ever since the jagged pain which had lanced through his scar, something had been wrong with him. It was like the Sorting Hat had ripped open an old scab on his mind, letting the blood flow, letting it permeate the rest of his brain…

He didn't know how to describe it. It was like his skull had been filled with cotton; like his mind had temporarily exited his body while it tried to process something.

Was this the curse the hat had mentioned? Would he forever be disjointed from the world?

He picked through his meal, not really seeing or tasting it. He paid no attention to Dumbledore's start-of-term speech, mumbled his way through the school song. He didn't even notice it was time to leave until everyone got up.

Startled, Harry almost jumped out of his seat. He forced himself back into reality and sidled over to other boys his age, boys he vaguely recognized from the Sorting. They were following an older boy, one with a prefect's badge on his robes.

Harry was too disoriented to even wonder how he'd recognized the badge.

As they followed the prefect down, down, down, into the dank dark dungeons, Harry noticed something strange. He'd never set foot in Hogwarts in his life, but their route seemed… familiar… to him. It felt… almost like he had been here before as a very young child, or perhaps in a dream, and had forgotten it until now.

The sense of déjà vu only increased when Harry entered his new dorm. He glanced automatically at the bed nearest the door, knowing somehow that though it might not look very nice, it was soft and comfortable and enchanted to grant a good night's sleep.

He moved his baggage to the foot of the bed, feeling almost like he was coming home. He _had _been here before. Perhaps his parents had taken him here once? But that was ridiculous- they had been Gryffindors.

Then a rude voice broke through his reverie.

"Ugh," it said contemptuously, "Hogwarts' standards have really fallen." Harry looked up to see a blond, slimy-looking boy with pointed features and a perpetual sneer. Definitely a Malfoy, he decided. Probably Lucius' son; Draco would be about the right age.

Harry blinked. He'd never heard of the Malfoys, or Lucius, or Draco. Where in the world had those thoughts come from?

The blond boy continued his tirade, speaking to two brainless boulders. A Crabbe, Harry realized, and a Goyle.

He'd never heard of them either.

"There was a time," ranted the blond (Draco Malfoy?), "that you could always count on Slytherin to be a safe haven against Mudbloods and blood traitors. Now look at what we've got!" He gestured furiously at Harry. "A half-blood! The spawn of a blood traitor and a Mudblood!"

Harry frowned. He'd heard about "Mudbloods" and "blood traitors" from the snakes; he could trust this knowledge. He knew they were both deathly insults. He knew he would have to reply; if he didn't, his next seven years would be a living nightmare.

"Actually," he drawled, not bothering to look up from his baggage, "I agree."

The three boys looked up, startled. "Slytherin's standards have fallen," Harry continued carelessly. "In the old days, they never would have let two gorillas and a talentless moron such as yourselves into this House. I mean, this is the House where your achievements are supposed to matter, not your pedigree."

"How dare you!" raged the talentless moron. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yep," Harry answered. "You're someone who has so little talent and intelligence that the only thing you can brag about is your incestuous family history."

Across the room, someone barked a laugh. Harry looked up and met the gaze of an amused-looking black boy.

The next thing he knew, Gorilla Number One had punched his face.

Harry fell backwards, his nose spewing blood, nearly squishing Sisith (the snake swore in Parseltongue). A small part of the boy's mind commented that wizards were supposed to use magic, not brute strength, and that this one was probably too stupid to remember he had a wand.

The gorilla's fingers tightened around Harry's neck, lifting the dazed wizard off his bed. "I'll bite him!" Sisith raged, beginning to slither down Harry's arm.

Even dazed and confused, Harry knew he had to do something. His fingers gripped his wand.

"Crabbe, Goyle- do whatever you want to the filthy half-blood." The two brutes laughed, thugs given permission to really hurt someone.

For the first time, Harry Potter was afraid.

Sisith reared to strike-

-And, with one fluid motion, Harry jerked his wand out of his pocket and bellowed the first spell which came to his lips-

"_Levicorpus!"_

Crabbe (or Goyle, it was impossible to tell the difference) went flying, plucked on the ankle by invisible hand. His foot hit the ceiling. He yelped.

Goyle (or Crabbe) froze, gaping stupidly at his floating comrade. His fingers loosened around Harry's throat.

The Parselmouth kicked him wildly. He didn't have the air for another spell.

Goyle (or Crabbe), evidently wasn't used to people actually fighting back against him. He dropped Harry.

Harry gasped in air, simultaneously wondering what the heck he'd done, how he'd known to do it, and what he could do about the second gorilla. He scrambled across his bed, panting, and bellowed another spell. "_Stupefy!_" The second gorilla fell, a comical expression of surprise on his face.

For a few seconds, everyone froze. Harry, the black boy, the blond, and a weedy boy who had remained silent gaped at Goyle's frozen body.

"You've killed him!" shrieked the blond. A twisted grin split his features. "Just you wait- this'll get you _expelled!" _

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy," ordered the black boy. "Can't you see he's only Stunned?"

Stunned, Harry thought disjointedly. Stupefy. The Stunning Spell. Counterspell _ennervate. _

Well, if it worked once...

He grinned, turned his wand on Malfoy. An expression of pure horror made its way onto Draco's face.

"Nighty-night," Harry said cheerfully. "_Stupefy._"

Malfoy collapsed.

* * *

"Just a second," Harry whispered to Sisith. "Let me do something first." He placed his wand on the closed green curtains of his bed, a small barrier separating him from the Slytherin dorms. "_Muffliato," _he murmured, willing the magic to permeate the curtains. Somehow he knew that the spell would keep them from being overheard. He smiled and repeated the incantation on the other three drapes. "All right. We can talk now."

"What happened?" Sisith demanded. "How did you know all those spells?"

"That's not all I knew," Harry answered. "I knew those three boys' names- well their surnames, at least- before I heard them. And I know Malfoy's father's name too, so don't say that I'm just remembering from the Sorting."

Sisith looked confused.

"_And,_" Harry continued, "I knew how to get to the dungeons, too. Sisith, I feel like I've spent my entire life in Hogwarts. I bet that I could find my way all around the school tonight, no problem."

"But how?" asked Sisith. He knew that this wasn't normal for wizards. "Maybe because you're a Parselmouth?"

Harry hesitated for a second. The Sorting Hat had begged him not to tell anyone- but Sisith wasn't human, and it wasn't like he could tell anyone but another snake or Parselmouth. Surely Harry could tell his serpent friend!

"The hat… did something," he explained softly. "During my Sorting. It was talking about giving me something, something that was as much a gift as a curse." In hurried hisses, he relayed what had happened.

Sisith looked confused. "I don't know what it could have been," Harry confessed.

"Well," Sisith suggested slowly, "why don't we start by thinking about what it could _not _be?"

For a few seconds they thought. Then Harry said, "It can't have been the Hat's own knowledge. It only Sorts first years, and those spells and my familiarity with the castle can't have come from first years."

Sisith nodded in agreement. They remained silent for a few more seconds, contemplating what the hat could have given Harry.

"Hey, Potter!" exclaimed a voice from outside the bed. Harry jumped, yelped, grateful for the _muffliato _on his curtains.

He moved outside of his bed, suspicious. He didn't trust anyone after the fiasco with Malfoy.

It was the black boy who had called him- a black boy with a huge grin on his face. "Goyle's asleep now," he said cheerfully.

Harry blinked, not comprehending. Then he realized that Goyle must have been the one he'd hit with _levicorpus. _

"He fell asleep on the ceiling?" Harry asked blankly.

"Yep."

Harry grinned. "_Stupefy. Libericorpus." _Goyle, still unconcious, fell to the ground.

"Nice spellwork you've got there," commented the other boy. "How long will you keep them out?"

Harry shrugged languidly. "Long enough for them to be late on their first day of class."

The other laughed. "Oh, I _like _you."

"If you like me, why didn't you help me when those two buffoons attacked me?" demanded Harry, suspicion flaring again.

The other boy didn't blink. "Because Malfoy's father is too powerful," he answered. "Make trouble for Draco, or even for his two goons- who are spies, by the way; that's why I waited until Goyle was out- and Lucius Malfoy will get back at you. He's on the board of governors, the Wizengamot, all sorts of powerful positions."

Harry frowned, deep in thought. So the boy really was a Malfoy whose father's name was Lucius. "All right," he said slowly, "but what if Draco didn't tattle us to daddy?"

His new friend raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

"Well," Harry elaborated, "if I were Draco, I would be pretty humiliated at getting outdone by a- what did he call me? Oh yeah, a filthy half-blood. I imagine that daddy wouldn't be pleased that his precious _pureblood _son was beaten by me."

The other beamed. "Oh, I _really _like you," he declared happily. He extended his hand. "Blaise Zabini."

Harry grinned, shook it. "Harry Potter."

"Oh yeah," chuckled Sisith from his place on the bed, "this is gonna be _good._"

Harry couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

Tada! This was a filler chapter, I'm afraid. I intended to get Harry into classes, but the Slytherin dorms scene just took up too much space. Oh well. At least we met Blaise. Blaise, by the way, is one of the main reasons I put Harry in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw.

Feel free to speculate on the nature of the Sorting Hat's gift. It's funny to see how horribly wrong you are. : )

Notice that Malfoy doesn't care about Crabbe and Goyle. Did you actually expect him to feel anything for his stupid bodyguards?

Next chapter, I promise that we'll get into classes.

Keep reviewing!

-Antares


	7. Fury and Hate

Back again! Wow, you must all be getting sick of me.

Killing Curse Eyes: Yes, I know that Snape loved Lily. However, his memory (in canon) shows that he would have saved Lily from Voldemort and let James and Harry die without a second thought. And he's always been very spiteful to canon Harry.

Oceanlover14: Glad you like him. As for your question, you'll just have to wait and see!

This chapter is dedicated to Schuikichiro, who doesn't agree with my opinions but is polite enough not to flame.

Disclaimer: Still don't own HP. Sorry, auctioneers…

* * *

_He is the knowledgeable one, _

_The child of study and truth, _

_Lies, and hidden secrets. _

_Beware, lest your knowledge _

_Make you mad. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

Professor Snape glared over the Slytherin table. "Where," he asked in a silky voice, "are Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle?"

"They were still asleep, last I saw of them, sir," said Harry Potter, perfectly straight-faced. (A few seats away, Blaise Zabini snorted into his porridge.) "If you'd like, sir, I'll go get them for you."

Snape nodded, reminding himself that he had to be civil to this wretched spawn of James Potter.

Harry smiled sweetly and walked out of the Hall.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up with a gasp. His memories churned, confused. He looked around wildly.

"Bout time you're awake," commented a familiar voice. Malfoy looked up into the impassive face of the Potter boy who had attacked him last night.

"_You!" _

"Yes, me."

Draco forced his body into a dignified position. He smirked. "Wait til my father hears that you-"

"That I, the child of a blood traitor and a Muggleborn witch, thoroughly trounced his ickle Dwakikins."

Malfoy froze. What would Lucius say?

"Just you wait," he growled, unable to do anything else.

"Oh, I will," Harry answered cheerfully. "But not for long. You'll undoubtedly humiliate yourself pretty soon."

He left the steaming pureblood to fume behind him.

* * *

"So how do you like the teachers?" Mark asked his brother.

Harry smiled. Due to classes and the inter-House rivalry, he and Mark hadn't had a chance to talk very much for the past week, and he reveled in their conversation.

"With the obvious exception of Binns, I think they're pretty good," he replied.

Mark made a face. "Ugh! I _hate _Binns! Why doesn't Dumbledore just kick him out!"

"I looked it up," Harry answered grumpily. "Did you know that Dumbledore's never fired anyone? But that's not the reason. There's some stupid regulation in the Hogwarts Charter that says the Headmaster can't interfere with the Hogwarts ghosts unless they're posing a threat to the students."

"But he _is _posing a threat," Mark whined. "He's gonna kill us all from boredom!"

Harry, who had nearly fallen asleep in Binns' class, nodded. His strange knowledge told him that Binns had been a bore even when alive. He had an idea about Binns, one which he would have to discuss with Hermione Granger. "Maybe we could make a petition…?"

"Or maybe," Mark suggested, his eyes lighting up, "I can just call someone from the Ministry and ask them to get rid of Binns." He grinned. "If they're anything like my Housemates, they'll do _anything _for the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry grimaced internally. Well, as long as Mark had brought it up, he might as well finish it.

"Actually," he said slowly, not sure how to broach the subject, "I'm kind of worried about you."

Mark blinked. "Worried? Why? Hagrid said that Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain! It's even safer than Gringotts!"

"Not that kind of worry," Harry interjected. "I'm worried about how this Boy-Who-Lived thing is going to affect you."

Mark blinked at him. "Affect me?" What was he, a parrot?

"Yeah," Harry muttered, looking down at his robes. He wished that Sisith were there, but the snake had gone to look for the basilisk. "I mean… Mark, you're famous. Every famous person has hangers-on, people they think are friends but really aren't. And then there are politicians, advertisers, people who want to use your fame for their own ends. Remember how many bananas Dudley bought after that one sports star endorsed them? I'm worried that someone will use you like that, but without the payment and for something way more dangerous that bananas." And I'm worried about your ego, brother. You've never had many compliments in your life; don't get drunk on them!

I can already see the changes in you. You're stronger, more assured, more confident. Glossier, sleeker. It's like watching a starving boy fill up with food- but take care that you don't eat too much and grow fat!

Mark's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you talking about Ron and Dean and Seamus?" he asked suspiciously.

"No!" Harry yelped. "I'm not. But there are people out there who'll take advantage of you." Like Dumbledore and Voldemort, he thought, remembering the Sorting Hat's warning.

Mark glared at him. "I think you're just jealous," he accused his brother. "All our life, it's been you in the spotlight, protecting Ickle Markikins and hogging me all to yourself. Now it's _my _turn to be famous, and you're jealous!"

"I am not!" Harry yelled back. "I'm just trying to protect you, but you're too much of a prat to let me!"

"Maybe I don't need protection!"

With that furious statement, the Boy-Who-Lived whirled away from his brother and stalked down the hall.

Harry looked after him, tears coming to his eyes. His voice was barely a whisper. "But you do…"

* * *

"Hermione!"

At the sound of her name, the Ravenclaw looked up from her book and into Harry Potter's grinning face. "Hello Harry."

"Lo, Hermione. Good book?"

"Oh, it's wonderful! It's about Dumbledore and how he defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945."

"Ah, a history book. Fitting, that."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry grinned at her. "What I mean, Hermione, is that I have a proposition for you, and it involves our History of Magic class."

"Ugh!" growled Hermione, setting her book aside. "That's the only class here- well, besides Potions- I don't like. I can't _believe _Dumbledore lets that ghost teach!"

"Section Three, subsection twenty-two of the Hogwarts Charter. He can't interfere with ghosts unless they pose a threat to the student body."

"But he is posing a threat to us," she muttered angrily. "A threat to our education! Would you believe that all the other Ravenclaws were asleep in their chairs?"

"Actually, yes," the Slytherin replied dryly. "Only Blaise Zabini and I stayed awake during our class, and I had to keep poking him to make him stay that way." He looked over Hermione's shoulder. "And speak of the devil, here he is!"

Blaise smiled and languidly seated himself. "Guess I lose, mate. We _did _find her in the library. How much do I owe you?"

"Three hundred Galleons."

"No way!" Blaise's horrified protest attracted attention from Madame Pince, the librarian. She stalked over to them, her eyes alight. "Sorry, ma'am," Blaise said quickly. "Won't happen again."

She kept at her advance.

Blaise groaned. "I do _not _owe you three hundred Galleons. But I think you're going to have to make our proposition alone. Gotta go!" He zoomed out of the library with the speed of a Snitch.

By now, Hermione was quite perplexed. "You were looking for me? And what's this about a proposition?"

Harry grinned again. "Yep. And as for the proposition… what do you think about making several copies of our History notes and selling them? The school needs it, and we could probably make quite a profit."

The Ravenclaw gaped. Selling notes…. Her good sense warred against her moral compass.

"It's not _wrong _or anything," Harry explained quickly. "I mean, it's not our fault that no one else takes notes. If we left it up to everyone else, there would be three passes in History of Magic!"

Hermione nodded slowly. Then her face broke into a wicked grin. "Why stop with just history?"

* * *

Potions class. Last class of the week, first class with his Head of House. Harry hadn't had much contact with Snape all week, and was curious to see how he was as a professor.

Then he walked into the Potions room and saw that it was a double class with the Gryffindors. Oh joy. Mark's angry eyes met his for a moment and turned away.

Harry grimaced, still sore from their confrontation yesterday. But more than anger and wounded pride, he felt sorrow. The changes in his brother had already begun. The old Mark would never have yelled at Harry that way.

Maybe he's right, Harry mused sadly. Maybe I _am _jealous.

He sighed. Maybe? He was jealous.

Oh, he wasn't envious of the fame or the fans; Harry liked his friends few and fascinating instead of many and mediocre. No, it was the _acknowledgment _that he craved, the realization that this boy in front of everyone was a powerful wizard, a great one.

That was what he wanted. Respect, not glory like Mark had.

The Slytherins certainly didn't respect him. Word of his little escapade with Malfoy had circulated throughout the House, but it was believed that anyone could have trounced the pureblooded brat. Only Lucius Malfoy's power gave his spawn any say in Slytherin affairs.

News that Blaise Zabini had sided with this unknown Potter made Harry something of a curiosity. The Zabinis were famously neutral, remaining so even in the midst of Voldemort's war, so seeing the Zabini heir with Harry made the Boy-Who-Lived's brother fascinating.

But no, the Slytherins did not respect him. Oh, they were wary, certainly, and fascinated by him, but they respected him as much as a flobberworm.

* * *

Deep down under the earth, the being stirred again. She looked up at the things she guarded, the life's work of her closest friends. "The Trial of Honesty," she murmured.

For the first time in centuries, she allowed herself to hope, to truly hope that the world was not lost.

* * *

Professor Snape walked in, glowering like some overgrown bat, clutching the attendance sheet in his claws- I mean, hands. He paused on Mark's name.

"Mark Potter," he murmured (but though he murmured, everyone in the classroom heard him crystal clear; he had that kind of gift), "our new _celebrity._"

Harry stiffened. The knowledge granted to him by the Sorting Hat suddenly disclosed that Snape had hated James Potter's guts. It didn't tell him about Snape's teaching skills.

This was not going to be pretty.

Harry glanced desperately at Mark, trying to warn his twin with his eyes.

It didn't work. All he received for his efforts was a glare from Ron Weasley.

Snape began a lecture about the beauty and subtlety of Potions-brewing, somehow managing to insult the Gryffindors without saying anything rude. Well, except dunderhead. That was rather rude.

"Potter!" the Professor barked suddenly. Both twins stiffened. "What is Amortentia?"

Harry glared. His "gift" told him that Amortentia wasn't studied until sixth year, earliest. Snape was deliberately trying to humiliate Mark.

No _way _was that going to happen. They might be mad at each other, but Mark was still Harry's brother!

"It's an exceedingly potent Love Potion, sir," he said sweetly.

Snape, who had apparently forgotten Harry existed (he had been too busy glaring at Mark), jerked around. His beady black eyes met Harry's green ones.

Harry snapped up his Occlumency shields.

It was frightening, huddling behind these mental walls while Snape pushed with a battering ram outside of them. It was terrifying, in fact, and for more than one reason.

Harry hadn't completely trusted in the Sorting Hat's gift. He had done his best to corroborate all the knowledge it granted him. Until this moment, he hadn't completely trusted that his strange, almost intuitive information was true.

Now he knew. Yes, it was true.

Snape's assult stopped as quickly as it began. He looked at Harry with impenetrable eyes. Harry met his gaze, unflinching. _Wanna try for seconds, you old bat? _

"Five points to Slytherin," the Potions Master said very slowly. He turned again to Mark. "Mark Potter, what do you find in a goat's stomach?"

A bezoar! A bezoar!

"Uhh…goat food?"

The Gryffindors laughed. The Slytherins smirked. Harry winced.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your impertinence, Potter," Snape growled. Malfoy and his pet gorillas were shaking with laughter. Harry clenched his fists.

It only got worse from there. Snape seemed to hate Mark, and wasn't afraid to let the Boy-Who-Lived know it. Harry, who was partnering with Neville Longbottom as they worked on a simple potion to cure boils, tried his best to stop it, but after a few times, Snape seemed to come up with a counterattack.

"Potter," he said coldly, turning on Mark with a sneer, "are you so incapable that your brother is forced to do everything for you? Five points from Gryffindor for weakness, and five to Slytherin for compassion." His black eyes glittered with smug self-satisfaction.

Harry didn't try to help after that. Inside his pocket, Sisith began to curse Snape in Parseltongue.

It was a good thing that Parselmouths were so rare. Snape would not want to hear how he was described.

The Potions Master had another prize victim: Harry's partner, Neville. He spooked the poor boy so badly that the Gryffindor was quickly rendered incapable of even the most simple tasks. Snape must have taken twenty points from Neville, and awarded Harry ten points "for putting up with this incompetent moron."

By the end of the lesson, Neville was almost in tears.

"Hey, Neville, wait up!" Harry bellowed after him.

Neville ducked and tried to hide himself in the sea of robes.

Harry was not deterred. He trotted up to the pureblood heir and grasped his shoulder. "Snape's a _git." _

Neville smiled weakly. "Not to you," he pointed out. "You're in his House."

"Yeah," Harry answered, "but you not being in Slytherin isn't an excuse. I'm surprised Dumbledore lets this guy teach. We're not going to learn anything with this overgrown bat breathing down our necks!"

Neville hung his head. "I'm terrible at Potions anyway," he said gloomily. "And Charms. And Transfiguration. And everything else."

"Who's been telling you that?" Harry demanded. "Cause I'll hex whoever it is."

"No one. I can see it for myself."

Harry frowned. "Well then Neville, I'm afraid I have to hex you. _Rictusempra!" _

When the Tickling Charm wore off, Neville seemed much happier. "Thanks," he said gratefully. "You're not like the Slytherins Gran told me about."

His gran, Augusta Longbottom. A very capable witch, not to be underestimated. Sometimes called the Lioness of the North. Mother of Frank Longbottom.

"I don't think I want to be," Harry answered honestly. "C'mon, let's find some Potions books in the library. We don't need that vampire to teach us."

Neville grinned and nodded.

* * *

Under their feet, the being stirred again. Twice in one day? she wondered.

Yes, she decided, there was indeed cause for hope.

* * *

There you have it. But what does it mean?

Final warning: Snape, Ron, Dumbledore, and Malfoy fans beware! You ain't gonna like the portrayal.

Congrats to all you who figured the gift out. You are all way too smart for me.

Read and review, everybody!

-Antares


	8. Clues and Complications

Sorry about the wait, everybody. To make a long story short, life caught up with me. Now I'm back, so I hope you'll forgive me. Unfortunately, this is mostly just one of those filler chapters.

This chapter is dougal74, who reviewed every one of my chapters in one go.

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. That makes me sad.

* * *

_The Speaker comes! _

_His heart is trapped in shifting sands, _

_His soul is not his own. _

_-The Prophecies, _Helga Hufflepuff

Harry froze. "Hello, Mark."

Mark stared back at him with huge eyes. Evidently, Harry wasn't the only one who had been invited to tea at Hagrid's.

For a few seconds, the two brothers stood there awkwardly. "Er…" Mark muttered.

Fortunately, Hagrid interrupted. "Mark, there yeh are!" He beamed. "We've been waiting for yeh!"

_We've _been waiting for him? This was news to Harry.

His brother grinned, walked in. "Nice place you've got, Hagrid," he said. He was right. Hagrid's hut wasn't fancy, but it was homey and comfortable. It seemed that some of Hagrid's big heart had permeated his home.

The giant man's equally large boarhound, Fang, sniffed at Mark. Evidently deciding that the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't a threat, he trotted back to the fireplace and went back to sleep.

Harry hadn't told the groundskeeper about his spat with Mark, and it seemed that Hagrid didn't notice any tension between the two brothers. Harry could deal with that.

Hagrid seemed thrilled with his two guests. He kept pouring them tea, refilling their plates with rock cakes (both brothers wished that he wouldn't), kept smiling at them.

"Yer brother was telling me about the first week of school," he explained. "How was yers?"

Mark answered Hagrid the same way he'd answered Harry. "For the most part, I really like Hogwarts. It's really, really interesting. I mean, talking portraits!" He shook his head. "I love it."

Then his face darkened. "Except for _Snape." _

Hagrid didn't seem surprised. "He doesn't like anyone," the groundskeeper explained.

"Unless they're in my House," Harry interjected darkly. "It's Slytherins like him who give Slytherins like me a bad name."

Mark grimaced, remembering how Snape had treated him.

"I mean," Harry continued, "he takes points if a Gryffindor so much as _breathes _wrong, but rewards idiots like Crabbe and Goyle for holding their knives right! He's a slimy, prejudiced _git_!"

Mark gaped, apparently reassessing his opinion of his twin.

Hagrid was surprised, too. "I've never heard a Slytherin complain about him before," the huge man commented softly.

"Maybe we should."

Mark frowned at him. "Why would you? He obviously favors you all."

"Because he treated my brother like something disgusting he found on his shoe. Well, he treats others like that, but I mostly care about my brother."

Mark was stunned, then thrilled. He grinned at Harry, and the elder Potter knew he was forgiven.

They spent the rest of the afternoon happily abusing Snape, Binns, and Filch, Hogwarts' caretaker. Then Mark's eyes fell on a newspaper article, and the conversation took a different turn.

"Someone broke into Gringotts?"

"What?" asked Harry, who had been happily ranting about what he would like to do to Mrs. Norris, Filch's evil cat.

Mark grabbed the newspaper- only to have it snatched out of his grasp by Hagrid.

Both brothers gaped.

The groundskeeper looked embarrassed- but he didn't give the paper back. He mumbled something indistinct about how firs' years shouldn't concern themselves with these things.

The twins' eyes met.

Harry wondered if the Hogwarts library kept old newspapers…

* * *

Guilt was not an emotion that Blaise Zabini was familiar with.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like guilt. Sure, he felt bad for his mother's assorted victims (oops, husbands), but not guilty. No, to him guilt was just something that got into the way of his plans.

Then Harry had come and changed that.

Harry… Blaise didn't know what it was about Harry that made him feel guilty. Maybe it was the boy's idealism, maybe his charisma. Maybe (though he didn't admit it) it was because he and Harry were more than allies.

Maybe Blaise felt guilty because he was betraying his first true friend.

Well, okay, he wasn't exactly _betraying _the younger wizard. He was just meeting with another ally without telling him.

Daphne Greengrass: cool, collected, in control.

Scion of the most powerful neutral pureblood house in the Wizarding World.

She raised a blond eyebrow at him, waiting.

"Tell you about Harry Potter, huh," Blaise muttered, uncharacteristically serious. "Where to start?"

"His personality. His goals," Daphne supplied.

"Personality. Right." Blaise still didn't know where to start. "For one thing, he's the very definition of a Slytherin. No, he's not. He's got the _best _traits of our House without picking up on the arrogance and coldness so many of us have." The boy chuckled softly. "Course, that might just mean he hasn't spent too much time with us, but I don't think so.

"Harry's an idealist. His goals, as far as I can tell, are altruistic: clean up the world. Start with the rep of Slytherin House; go on to the rest of Wizarding Britain. The scary part is, I almost believe he can do it. I mean, look what he's done to Malfoy already!

"And then there's his brother. Harry is really protective of his twin, really loves him. Harry would do anything to keep his brother safe and happy. From what he's told me, he's always been Mark's protector, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon."

Daphne nodded slowly, her face as neutral as her family. "You actually think that he can 'clean up the world?'"

"Yeah," answered Blaise, meeting her eyes. "I really think he can."

Daphne nodded again. "You're a good judge of character, Zabini." Then she smiled. "Personally, I think that the Wizarding World could use a lot of cleaning. But there's a problem with his goal of cleaning up our House."

"What?"

"Snape," the Greengrass heir answered, her eyes as hard as agates. "It's obvious that he wants Slytherin to stay 'dirty.' He's actively promoting our bad reputation. If we try to crack down on Slytherin's rep, we will be acting in direct opposition to our Head of House."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "We, huh?"

Daphne smiled again. "Maybe." Then she sighed. "We both know how badly the neutral houses suffered in the last war. The House of Greengrass remembers, and we are contemplating taking a side. Just contemplating, now," she added, seeing Blaise's hopeful look. "And even if we do, there's no guarantee that we'll choose your cleaning crew."

"Thanks," the other Slytherin said gratefully. Then, "Daphne, can I ask a favor?" She nodded. "All right then. Can you scope out the other neutrals in Slytherin, see what they think about Potter and our 'cleaning crew,' as you call it?"

Daphne nodded. They both understood what Blaise was asking: he and Harry needed someone not associated with them to do this so they could get an honest opinion. Doing this wouldn't incriminate Daphne in any way because it could be passed off as simple curiosity- and she had probably been planning on it, anyway. Her task posed no risk whatsoever and a possible benefit: if Harry became a powerful figure, the Greengrasses could cash in on this early favor.

Don't you just love Slytherin politics?

* * *

The Hogwarts library did indeed carry newspapers.

"Found it!" Mark exclaimed, attracting the attention of that ever-present harpy, Madam Pince. Harry grinned slightly, remembering her encounter with Blaise.

"Mark, I think you'd better get out of here. _Now." _He looked significantly at the furious librarian.

"I can handle it," Mark reassured him. To Harry's shock- and horror- he turned to Madam Pince, smiling beatifically. "Hello, Madam. Have we met? My name's _Mark Potter." _

The librarian blinked at the beaming boy. "Oh," she said vaguely. "Well, just make sure it doesn't happen again." She wandered off to go torment some sixth years.

Harry gaped. Mark smirked. "I _love _being famous."

"Er, yeah," his brother answered. "Didn't you say you found it?"

"Oh yeah," Mark answered- quietly this time. "Here it is."

The two brothers read the article. It was about a break-in on July 31. Goblins had refused to give details, but they mentioned that the vault had already been empty.

"Wonder what it was," Harry commented.

"I don't know _what _it was," Mark said gleefully, "but I do know _where _it is!"

"I'll bite. Where?"

"Here!"

Harry blinked. "Mark, this is a school." What kind of an idiot takes something that powerful dark wizards are after and puts it in a building full of teenagers?

"Yeah! _No one _is gonna suspect." He paused. "I'll bet it's in the third floor corridor."

Harry vaguely remembered Dumbledore saying something about the third floor corridor during the Welcoming Feast, but had been too busy assimilating his gift to really pay attention. "Why there?"

"Cause Dumbledore told everyone not to go there in the Welcoming Feast!" Mark was beaming like he'd just figured out the Mona Lisa.

Harry's jaw dropped. _Why, _oh _why _had Dumbledore done that? Hadn't he ever heard of reverse psychology?

Unless he had heard of reverse psychology, and was using it to lure students to the third floor…

But why would he do that?

Well, one thing was for certain.

Mark stared at the article. "We've gotta see what's in that corridor."

* * *

Malfoy held up the Remembrall with a cruel smirk on his face. "That fat crybaby dropped this!" he gloated.

Harry was not amused to hear his wounded friend referred to as "that fat crybaby." Time to make a stand.

"Oh, did you want it?" he asked sweetly. "Take it; I'm sure that _Neville _can afford another one." His heavy emphasis on the word _Neville _did not go unnoticed.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?" he asked softly.

Harry nodded cheerfully. "I'm sure that Neville won't mind that you stole his Remembrall once I explain the situation to him. The Longbottoms are famous for their donations to charity cases, and I'm sure he won't be an exception."

"Charity cases!" Malfoy shrieked again.

"I agree, Harry," Blaise piped up. "Maybe then Malfoy will remember how to talk."

Draco's face turned an ugly shade of scarlet. Harry and Blaise smirked.

That was when Mark stepped in.

"I'll take this," he announced, grabbing the Remembrall right out of Malfoy's hand.

It was not a good idea.

Malfoy spun around, wand at the ready. He snatched the Remembrall right back- and jumped onto his broomstick.

The smart thing to do was wait until Madam Hooch came back and laugh as she chewed out the spoiled pureblood. The stupid thing to do would be to go on after him.

Mark did the stupid thing. Harry cursed.

"Crabbe and Goyle aren't here to protect you, Malfoy!" Mark called.

Malfoy seemed to realize that, too. "Well then, Potter, better catch this!" He tossed down the Remembrall.

Mark flew down after it, gaining every second. They were five feet (about 1.7 m) away… four… three (about 1 m)… two… one- the Remembrall was about to reach the ground-

And Mark grabbed it, swooped up, triumphant. The Gryffindors erupted in cheers.

Then Madam Hooch's voice cut through the celebration. "MARK POTTER!"

* * *

Well, we all know what happens now. Next chapter, I'm gonna try to fit in the troll.

Read and review, folks!

-Antares


	9. Rumors

I'm back. Again. Yeah…

Dougal74, you're right. It does look like I'm turning Mark into canon Harry, but I'm not (even if I don't do a good job of showing it). Mark is arrogant and does things for attention; canon Harry did things because he had to. Also, the situations Mark gets into are going to be pretty similar to canon- but only because I haven't had a chance to really make a difference. I have plans that don't resemble canon at all, but I'm afraid I have to diverge from canon gradually at first, then with increasing momentum. By the way, this chapter is dedicated to you!

* * *

_Man will guide him _

_Wolf will guard him _

_The lady will serve him _

_The queen will bow at his feet. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

"You ready?" Mark asked his friends excitedly.

Ron nodded. "Yeah." Dean and Seamus inclined their heads in agreement.

The Boy-Who-Lived grinned. He wished that Harry were there, but his brother would never let him do this. That, and Harry didn't think that the Important Gringotts Thing (as Mark privately thought of it) was in Hogwarts. That, of course, was exactly _why _it was here: if someone as smart as his brother couldn't figure it out, not many people would.

Ron, Dean, and Seamus, though, did believe him. And now they were going to prove it!

The four had been waiting for dark in an abandoned classroom. Now it was time for them to leave. Feeling like someone out of a spy movie, Mark led his friends forward.

Right over to the forbidden third floor corridor.

Which was locked.

For a few seconds, the foursome stood and stared blankly at the closed door. None of them had anticipated this!

"Does anyone know an unlocking spell?" Seamus asked.

Underneath his Invisibility Cloak, Albus Dumbledore swore silently. He wished the Sorting Hat had obeyed his orders and put "the brightest wizard in the year" into Gryffindor. No, Hermione Granger had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, putting a crimp into his plans. To compensate, he'd arranged for Mark's friendship with Seamus and Dean to last; he'd originally intended to get them in a major argument. After all, for his purposes, two friends were better than three.

He made a mental note to arrange a meeting between Mark and someone more intelligent. This Halloween would do. Quirrell intended to let a troll in, and he could use that very nicely…

But back to the problem. Mark and his friends had no idea how to unlock the door; it looked like he would have to interfere directly.

Dumbledore cast his spell silently, slipping into the mind of Seamus Finnegan, leaving behind a small present. "It's _alohomora_!" the young wizard exclaimed happily. He took out his wand and cast the spell.

Dumbledore smiled again as the four Gryffindors walked into the forbidden corridor- and ran out like all the hounds of Hades were on their heels.

Actually, there was only one.

The headmaster cast another quick Legilimency probe. Seamus Finnegan had noticed the trap door, albeit barely. Oh, how he wished Miss Granger were there, but Seamus would have to do. Dumbledore cast his magic into that memory, solidifying it.

Yes, young Seamus would remember. Mark Potter would learn of the trap door.

Smiling contentedly, the aged wizard began the journey to his next destination. He would have to speak to Severus- there was no way that Mark and his friends could get past the Potions Master's original defense. Actually, he would probably have to dumb down each of the defenses.

Dumbledore's smile widened. It was good to have a stupid pawn. This one wouldn't actually develop intelligence and begin to question all of the strange "coincidences" that plagued his life.

But his brother might. Harry Potter was intelligent, clear-sighted, cunning: the very paragon of Slytherins. And he was fearfully loyal to Mark. Yes, the Potter twins must be separated, and quickly.

Fortunately, he had a plan. He always had a plan.

Dumbledore whipped off his Invisibility Cloak and forced his body into a posture of exhaustion and world-weariness as he rounded the corner. "Is something wrong, Professor?" asked the voice of a concerned painting.

Violet. Friend of the Fat Lady. The most notorious gossip in Hogwarts.

"It's nothing, Violet," Dumbledore sighed. His shoulders slumped even further.

"No it's not," she replied. "What's wrong?"

Dumbledore sighed again. "I really shouldn't tell you…"

Their conversation continued like that for the next two minutes. Finally Dumbledore was "persuaded" into confiding in the portrait. "It's about Mark and Harry Potter…"

Ten minutes later, Violet knew everything there was to know about the Dursleys and their treatment of the Potter twins- including details that only one of the two brothers (or a talented Legilimens) could know.

The arrogant Mark would be humiliated. Harry would lose some of his standing in Slytherin House.

And best of all, the trust between them would be strained. Perhaps broken.

There was just one more thing to do…

"_Confundo!" _

Violet blinked, looked around. Dumbledore, already under his Cloak, smiled. "Harry?" the portrait called. "Where did you go?" Not finding the young Slytherin, she shrugged. Then she smiled. It was flattering that the poor boy had chosen to confide in her.

Albus Dumbledore loved the Confundus Charm.

* * *

The next morning, gossip about Mark Potter's home life had spread throughout the school.

The Boy-Who-Lived was mortified.

By the time he reached the Great Hall, he had been accosted by no fewer than six portraits, starting with the Fat Lady. She had stopped him as he left the Gryffindor common rooms and given him her sympathy. _Loudly. _In front of half of Gryffindor House.

How did she know?

Even worse, students had heard the portraits' gossip. People were coming up to him, asking him if the news was true. Was he _really _abused and neglected by his relatives?

Yes, he was. But how the heck did everyone know that?

There was one explanation. _Harry. _

He stalked over to Slytherin table, where his brother and that Zabini kid were talking in quick, quiet voices.

"Harry!" Mark snapped. His brother and his friend looked up.

The Great Hall went silent.

Mark wanted nothing less than to be overheard. He grabbed his brother's arm and muttered something about a private conversation, then dragged him out of the Hall.

"Harry, why did you tell them?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "I didn't! I thought _you'd _told them!"

"Yeah _right. _I've finally got a decent life; why would I ruin it like this? No one needs to know about them!"

"But I didn't tell them," Harry repeated. "I have no idea how anyone found out, and the details are too specific to come from rumor. Someone told them, and it wasn't you or me."

_So you say, _Mark thought darkly. "Must've been your friend Zabini then," he growled.

Harry shook his head. "I've only told Blaise a little about the Dursleys. He doesn't know this much."

"Well," Mark snapped, "_I _didn't tell anyone about them!"

"Boys?" The twins spun around to see Professor Flitwick, Head of Hermione's House. "The headmaster wants to speak with you."

* * *

_Don't trust Dumbledore or Snape or look them in the eye. _

The Sorting Hat's warning rushed back into Harry's mind. He had so far avoided looking Snape in the eye, but had never been close to Dumbledore before.

_Don't look him in the eye. _

Harry knew why, of course. Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens, and Harry's Occlumency shields were still young and untried. They had held against Snape, and Harry had been frantically improving them for his next Potions class, but he didn't still didn't want to be anywhere near Dumbledore. The old, powerful headmaster was far more powerful than a mere professor.

But since he didn't really have much choice, the Parselmouth stared with fascination at the twinkling silver objects that filled the headmaster's office. He coudl identify a few, thanks to the Sorting Hat's present, but why would a school official need all this?

"I am afraid," said the headmaster's grave voice, "that I recently heard some… very troubling rumors."

Harry glanced up. Predictably, Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on Mark, who was gazing at his shoes with complete fascination.

"Are they true?"

There was a long moment of silence. "Yes, sir," Mark admitted grudgingly.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Very well then. I will take steps to remove you from the Dursleys' custody immediately."

Both twins looked up, astonished. "Really, sir?" asked Mark. Harry remained silent, watchful. He wasn't sure he trusted this wizard.

Mark, though, had no such qualms. "Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed jubilantly, leaping out of his seat. "Thank you, thank you! This is the best thing that's ever happened to me!" A huge smile split his face.

Dumbledore's answering smile didn't quite meet his eyes. Then he turned to Harry, and it did.

The bottom fell out of Harry's stomach. He _really_ didn't like this.

"Mister Potter, next time you need to confess something important, I would appreciate it if you spoke to me or your Head of House instead of a sympathetic portrait."

Harry stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about, sir?"

"Your confidant Violet came to me this morning and told me all the things you had told her. She was quite upset about it, actually."

"But I didn't-"

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "I doubt that the details Violet knows could have come from anyone but one of you. I know from Mark's reaction that he is innocent, so that leaves you."

His eyes met Harry's.

His probe invaded Harry's mind.

The Slytherin's Occlumency shields snapped up. Dumbledore's assault attacked them, battered them, threatened to destroy.

Threatened, but did not succeed.

Suddenly Harry knew _exactly _who had spilled the beans.

* * *

Neville Longbottom was nervous. He knew from experience that not all Slytherins were evil, but sitting next to two of them (and a Ravenclaw, he supposed) still tested his nerves.

Harry Potter was tense, nervous, angry. Perhaps that was why he got straight to the point. "Have any of you heard of Occlumency?"

"No," said Hermione Granger. "What is it?" Blaise Zabini shrugged. Neville shook his head.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, thought so.

"There is an obscure form of magic, Legilimency, that allows the caster to read minds. Occlumency is the art of shielding one's mind from a Legilimency attack. It has some other affects, too, like resistance to some truth potions, but its main purpose is to defend against a mental invasion." He took a deep breath. "Dumbledore and Snape are very proficient at Legilimency."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You can't possibly be accusing-"

"I am," Harry said quietly. "In fact, Dumbledore just tried to invade my mind this morning when we were in his office. I also have reason to believe that he's the one who told Violet about the Dursleys. The details- which are true and accurate- could only have come from me, Mark, or a Legilimens who read one of our minds. I know it wasn't me and Mark didn't want anyone to know about this, so that leaves the Legilimens option."

Hermione was horrified. "But they're _teachers!" _

"Teachers aren't always good people, Hermione."

Neville, too, was stunned. His family had always been loyal to Dumbledore. But still, if he'd tried to read Harry's mind…

"Doesn't surprise me, mate," commented Blaise. "He's always known things he shouldn't know, and my mum has always wondered why. Guess I can tell her now."

Hermione sighed. "I don't want to think that Professor Dumbledore is a mind reader. Snape, though, I can believe." Neville could believe that too. She turned to Harry, met his eyes. "Where can I learn Occlumency?"

Harry smiled. "That's the good news. I can teach you."

* * *

The rest of the month passed quietly and peacefully. Rumors about the Dursleys continued to abound, but they never seemed to leave the halls of Hogwarts. Whenever the rumors were mentioned, Harry would just snort and point out that he and Mark were being emancipated as they spoke. Mark would just glower and rely on his Boy-Who-Lived charisma.

Harry, Blaise, Neville, and Hermione met daily for their Occlumency classes. By the end of the second week, all three pupils could recognize when Snape was invading their minds- but they didn't meet his eyes enough to give him many opportunities.

Mark didn't reject Harry, as Dumbledore hoped, but relationships between the brothers were strained. It was obvious that Mark didn't believe Harry at all. Both brothers continued to visit Hagrid every Friday- after they were through with Potions.

Snape continued to belittle Mark during their lessons. Harry had no doubt that his brother's mind was being invaded on a weekly basis. However, the Potions Master still favored Harry. He had no idea why.

Mark found solace in his Quidditch practices with the rest of the Gryffindor team. McGonagall had installed him as Seeker after his fiasco with Malfoy.

Malfoy and his bodyguards were still their same poisonous selves. They took every opportunity to mock Mark's home life.

In other words, life at Hogwarts had settled into a comfortable routine.

That is, until the troll came.

* * *

Yay! Another chapter! Don't you just hate Dumbledore now?

Hermione and Neville are reserving judgment on our least favorite headmaster. They wouldn't put anything past Snape, but they still have doubts about Dumbledore's scheming.

Thanks again to all m wonderful reviewers! Read and review!

-Antares


	10. Samhain

Killing Curse Eyes: Snape's a really difficult character because he's so ambiguous. Some people say that his hate of James overshadows his love of Lily, and others say that his love of Lily trumps his hate of James. I'm in the second camp, you're in the first. This story is going to be written in the first situation, but I'll try to make a few Snape POVs where he struggles between love and hate. Until then, I think we should just agree to disagree. : )

The word Samhain is pronounced Sow-win. Don't ask me to explain the pronunciation; it's Gaelic. It's an old name for Halloween. And _daione sidhe _is pronounced dinny shee. Yeah, I know, it's weird.

This is the part where you finally get some explanations- and a lot more questions.

Disclaimer: Don't own HP.

This chapter is dedicated to Talia Gea. Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

_The guardian will wander without, _

_His emissary to the races; _

_Lest she be killed by the chosen one's hand. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

Hogwarts was absolutely magnificent at Halloween.

Huge pumpkins were strewn around the walls of the Great Hall. Smaller pumpkins were scattered on the five tables, carved into the fantastic shapes of magical creatures and illuminated from within by floating, multicolored flames.

And the food was almost as beautiful as the décor. Gigantic chickens and even larger turkeys on beds of parsley, potatoes that were mashed and fried and baked, ten different kinds of bright colorful vegetables, baskets of apples, and pastas in white sauces and red sauces and meaty marinades.

Needless to say, the students were very happy. So were most of the professors.

"Look at that," Blaise ordered, gesturing to the Gryffindor table.

"Look at what?" asked Harry.

"Your brother's redhead friend! _Look _at that kid eat!"

"I'd rather not. I've seen him eat."

Blaise continued to watch Ron's appetite with a mixture of fascination and horror, much like how one would observe a train wreck.

That was when Professor Quirrell ran in, shrieking about trolls! In the dungeons!

Dumbledore promptly ordered everyone to go to their common rooms.

Harry gaped at him. Two of the Houses- Slytherin and Hufflepuff- were positioned in the dungeons! Was Dumbledore _trying _to murder them all?

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to notice this. Professor Snape swooped down onto his students and commanded them to go to their common room. In the dungeons. Where the troll was.

The four Houses almost ran from the Great Hall. Harry noticed that Professor Snape didn't come with them, but instead ran off to the headmaster's side. Good.

Harry shoved his way to the front of the line of Slytherins. _"Sonorus," _he muttered. Then he shouted: "Does anyone else realize that our common room is also in the dungeons?"

The Slytherins froze. Evidently they did realize- now. The prefects hurriedly gathered together to make plans.

"C'mon," Harry muttered, grabbing Blaise's arm. "The Puffs have a common room down here too. We'd better go warn them."

Blaise grinned at him. "Harry, you've just become the hero of two Houses."

The Parselmouth grinned back. "Good."

Soon enough, the two boys met up with a large group of hysterical Hufflepuffs. Unlike Professor Snape, Professor Sprout had not abandoned her charges.

Good. All they had to do was alert Sprout, and she would take care of everything else.

She looked at them with wide, angry eyes. "What are you two doing away from you Housemates? Twenty points from Slytherin!"

Blaise winced. "Actually," he interjected quickly, "our prefects sent us."

Harry nodded, catching on to Blaise's ploy. "Yes. We're supposed to warn you that the troll is in the dungeons- near your common room."

Sprout blanched. Several of her students cried out. One fourth-year even fainted!

"Fifty points to Slytherin," Sprout said shakily. "For courage and common sense." She was horrified at how bad this might have gotten.

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry quickly. Then, "I think my House is going to hide in the library."

Sprout smiled. "Very well then. Tonks!" A seventh-year with bright pink hair shoved her way out of the Hufflepuff mob. "Run ahead with these two and bring them to the library. Then come back to the Great Hall and let us know if the library has enough room for us."

The pink-haired girl saluted. "Aye aye, cap!" she chirped. Then she turned to the two first years. "C'mon, let's get to the library."

* * *

To say that Minerva McGonagall was furious would be an understatement. She was _enraged. _

On the other side of her desk, the Boy-Who-Lived and his three inseparable friends cowered.

"_Never_," hissed McGonagall, sounding exactly like an angry cat, "in _all _my years as head of Gryffindor House, have I been so ashamed of my students."

Dean Thomas whimpered. Seamus Finnegan looked at the ceiling. Ron Weasley stared with fascination at his feet. Mark Potter gulped. They were so dead.

"Going after a troll!" their Head raged. "Four _first years! _Tell me, boys, do you have a death wish, or are you just ignorant fools?"

No one answered.

"I'm only glad that I found you before you found it!" McGonagall continued. "You could all have been killed, did this occur to you?" She continued to snarl at them for several more minutes, watching with satisfaction as they slunk lower and lower into their chairs. It was a bit petty, yes, and this loss of temper was definitely out-of-character, but she was definitely going to have to see Madam Pomfrey after this!

When she finally finished venting her spleen, Gryffindor had lost two hundred points and each of the boys was assigned an entire week of detention.

Minerva smiled slightly, feeling much better. Then she got up, left her office, and went to the hospital wing. There had better not be anything wrong with her heart…

* * *

Samhain. Day of darkness, twilight of fear. The time that the worlds almost- almost, but not quite- touched. The night of the dead.

And the night of the living.

The figure strode purposefully through the shadowy forest. It was a tall figure, very slender, clad in loose green pants and a sleeveless green tunic. Moonlight and starlight sparked off the tiny pearl buttons on the sides of its shirt. Long black hair cascaded nearly to its waist.

The figure- a young-seeming woman, very pale and very beautiful- didn't hesitate. It was not her regular form, and only the magic of the night allowed her to assume it, but she wore it well and comfortably. She knew exactly where she was going.

Light appeared in front of her, casting hundreds of shadows of huge trees. The sounds of revelry reached the woman's ears. She smiled slightly, revealing pointed teeth. The Fae had grown weaker through the centuries, and she had worried that they might not celebrate the Day of the Dead. It was, of course, a foolish fear. The Fae loved nothing more than a good party.

A mortal would have remembered the tales of the Fae and run in the opposite direction. The green-clad woman, though, had nothing to fear. She had known the otherworldly creatures for many years, and though they were not friends, they would not harm her. Undaunted, she continued towards the revelry.

At first glance the Fae appeared almost human- almost, but not quite. Their faces were too angular, their eyes too fever-bright, their colors too lustrous and luminous. But by far their most prominent traits were their inhuman beauty and pointed ears.

The Fae, fairies, elves, _Daione Sidhe. _They had borne many names through the ages, but always the same traits: capricious sprites, spirits of tree and hill, otherworldly guardians of nature.

Any mortal who wandered among them would instantly find himself stricken by their beauty, their strangeness, their otherworldliness, but this woman was still not intimidated. She ignored the reveling Fae, turned down their menfolks' offers to dance, and kept her golden eyes fixed upon her goal.

The Winter Queen was regal, majestic, reclining on her silken divan. Behind her, her human consort combed her short black hair, an expression of rapture on his face. Her skin glowed white in the reflected moonlight, the glow interrupted only by her silvery gown and pale blue eyes.

"Your Majesty," murmured the woman, bowing low before her.

The Winter Queen moved nothing but her ice-shadow eyes, which fixed onto the woman's humble figure. "Saysa of the Chamber," she murmured, "Queen of Serpents, Servant of the Four, Guardian of the Prophecies. What brings you out of your drafty home and into my domain?"

"Prophecy, my lady," answered Saysa. "This is one of the only nights of the year in which I can speak to not just you, but all the forest. While you and yours might be Parselmouths, the rest of the world cannot speak to me." She waited, holding her breath.

The Winter Queen sneered. "Ah yes. You come to me once again to beg for my aid to this Lightning Speaker of yours." She smiled, a cold unpleasant smile. "Tell me, little basilisk, how many times have you begged me this boon, only to be laughed away."

"Many times," the guardian admitted, "but this time it is different."

"Really?" asked the Queen contemptuously. "For I see no difference."

"Circumstances are very different, my lady," Saysa answered. "The Chosen One has passed four of the Trials. There is a very good chance that he could become the Lightning Speaker."

The Queen did not answer. Deciding to take her silence as encouragement, Saysa pressed on. "There are seven Trials which the Chosen One must pass to become the Speaker. If he fails even one of these Trials, or if he fails to complete them within the appointed year and a day, he loses all chance of becoming the Lightning Speaker, and our worlds are doomed. Unless the Chosen One becomes the Lightning Speaker and succeeds in averting the Spider's War, our worlds will drown in blood until God takes pity on them and destroys them."

"_Your _world, you mean," the Winter Queen corrected her. "My world is separate from yours- and better off for it!" She turned back to her consort, already losing interest in the supplicant. "Your Speaker is of no concern to me, or to any of my kind." Saysa was dismissed.

And yet she could not give up. A thousand years ago, she had been entrusted to watch, to wait, for the Speaker, to help him in any way possible. She had studied the prophecies her entire life, and knew that the Fae were essential if the Speaker were to succeed.

" 'He will open the locked doors, and pave the paths of the void,'" she quoted. The Winter Queen looked up. " 'He will heal the broken roads, and hollow out the hills. His touch will destroy the rift, mend the seasons.'" She glanced up. "_The Book of Hope and Despair. _As you see, Majesty, the Lightning Speaker is relevant to your world, as well."

The ice-blue eyes narrowed, focused on the basilisk. Saysa met the glacial gaze with her own golden eyes. This night, they would harm none, kill none.

The Winter Queen turned away. "Bring your Speaker to me if he succeeds in these Trials," she ordered. "Or, if it is before the summer solstice, to my sister. We will consider your request then."

Saysa smiled. She knew she had won.

* * *

"You okay, Sisith?" Harry asked softly. Now that the teachers had gotten rid of the troll, he and his Housemates were back in their dorms, settling down after an exhausting night.

"Do you remember the passage in your book?" the serpent asked quietly. "About the abilities which snakes in prolonged proximity to Parselmouths sometimes develop?"

Harry nodded, reached for the book, turned it to the chapter on serpents and Parselmouths. "_'Curiously__, a few Parselmouths have reported that their serpent companions sometimes gain unique magical abilities. Most of these abilities seem to center on the eyes and fangs. Some serpents are able to see magical auras or detect magical creatures. A few have even seen through invisibility spells and cloaks. _

" ' _Many other abilities are manifested through the serpent's fangs. Even nonvenomous species may suddenly develop potent poisons. Other serpents, particularly the poisonous kinds, begin producing powerful antivenoms, whose properties are almost bezoar-like in their potency.'" _Harry looked up. "Been seeing magical auras or spewing liquid bezoars lately?"

"Actually yes," Sisith admitted. He glanced in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "When I was hunting for the basilisk, I saw… something… in the forest. Light, but I knew it wasn't natural. I think I saw something magical, something powerful in there."

Harry followed Sisith's gaze. "Don't worry," he said. "Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with us."

* * *

Poor naïve Harry. Gotta love him. I know the Fae are a bit weird, but I do have plans for them. You'll find out more about them and Saysa and Sisith's abilities later on.

Read and review! Concrit is especially appreciated.

-Antares


	11. Daphne Greengrass

Thank you, all my wonderful reviewers! You guys are the reason I write. Killing Curse Eyes, I'm glad you agree with me. Thank you!

Darak, what the Hat means is that Harry isn't afraid to tell lies and/or keep the truth from people. I mean, Mark still doesn't know he's a Parselmouth!

Concealed Convict, don't worry. Daphne will show up again.

Interesting, from your comments I'm afraid that you won't like the rest of my story. I'm going to keep Hermione and Neville, and I absolutely love the Remus/Tonks pairing. I'm sorry if you don't like these people, but I've had the plot planned for quite some time and don't want to change it. Also, thank you for your reviews.

This chapter is dedicated to ev80.

Disclaimer: I still don't own HP. Isn't that sad?

* * *

_The lion child in the serpent's den _

_Wears a mask not of his own making, _

_And not even he knows of its presence. _

_-Battles, _Godric Gryffindor

Mark looked thoroughly miserable. "Is something wrong?" Harry asked him gently.

His brother shook his head. "Nothing that a visit to Hagrid's can't fix."

Harry laughed, and Mark felt a flash of guilt that he hadn't told Harry about the troll. He hadn't told _anyone _about the troll, mostly so he wouldn't be humiliated- but he hadn't told Harry because he wanted his brother to love and respect him.

Plus, Harry would murder him if he ever found out. Mark _liked _living, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, the first thing Hagrid did when the brothers got to his house was announce that Mark and his friends would be serving his detentions with him.

Mark blanched. Harry blinked. "Why've you got detentions?"

The desperate Boy-Who-Lived made wild hushing gesticulations, but Hagrid didn't seem to notice. "Cause of the troll, o course!"

Harry froze. "Troll?" He turned accusingly to his brother.

"Er, yes," the younger brother replied, wondering how he could get out of this with his limbs intact, "the troll."

For a long moment, Harry was silent. When he spoke, he spoke with deadly, deliberate silence. "You went after the troll?"

"Ron and Dean and Seamus were with me!" Mark hurriedly protested.

Harry exploded. Mark had led three _first years _after a monster that was _bigger than Hagrid? _He had lost his mind, he was completely demented; was he _trying _to be _killed and used as a toothpick! _

Even Hagrid, who was over twice Harry's size, seemed cowed by the boy's fury.

Desperate to avert his brother's ranting, Mark blurted out the first thing that came to his mind: "Hey, a troll is nothing like that three-headed dog!"

The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted him. Maybe if he ran really fast, he could convince the dog to eat him before Harry caught up.

Harry froze again. His silence wasn't the calm before the storm; it was more akin to the heart-stopping moment before the nuclear explosion.

And then Hagrid (bless his sweet, foolish, not-so-little heart) exclaimed, "How'd yeh know about Fluffy?"

Harry spun around, wearing an expression that could make Voldemort cry out for mummy. "You put a Cerberus in a school full of kids!"

Hagrid jumped back. "We need 'im! Fluffy's there to guard the Philosopher's Stone!" (Oh, thought Mark, so that's what The Important Gringotts Thing is.) Then the huge man's eyes widened and he placed a hand over his mouth. "Jes' ferget I said that!"

Somehow or other, Harry remained calm, reigning in his rage with visible effort. "Let me see if I understand this. You put a Cerberus in a building full of schoolchildren to guard a dangerous alchemical Dark Wizard-magnet." His eyes narrowed. "No, _you _didn't. Dumbledore did." The silence following that statement was palpable. Not even Hagrid, whose esteem for the headmaster was legendary, dared to break it.

Finally Harry turned to his brother. Mark groaned silently, and prepared for the chew-out of the century.

* * *

Blaise was thoroughly miserable.

"Something bothering you, Zabini?" asked Daphne Greengrass.

The other Slytherin barely stopped himself from jumping. "No," he lied. "I was just thinking that perhaps you'd like me to introduce you to Harry." This way, I won't have to hide from him anymore.

Blaise suddenly realized that he sounded like a lovestruck girlfriend and shuddered internally.

Daphne cocked her head, considering. "I would like that." She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Yes, I would like that very much."

* * *

It took Blaise forever to hunt Harry down. When he finally found the younger Slytherin, though, he decided that it might be a good idea to wait. Harry didn't seem very happy.

He was pacing through the Owlery like a caged beast, glowering at the floor and hissing furiously at his own shoulders. No, not his shoulders: a serpent's head reared up, turned to face Harry.

Blaise gawked. A Parselmouth!

The snake on Harry's shoulders suddenly hissed. Its head turned to face Blaise. The human's head followed.

Blaise was busted.

"Hey, Harry," he babbled, trying to ignore the angry-looking snake on his friend's shoulders, "I have some good news for you."

"Really," his friend answered flatly.

Blaise had not gotten into Slytherin House by being an idiot. He had to cheer his friend up, and fast. "Daphne Greengrass is considering giving us her support."

Harry froze, his snarling nipped in the bud. "What?" he asked blankly, realizing the implications immediately. If Daphne Greengrass, scion of the most powerful neutral House in the Wizarding World, even mentioned interest in Harry's campaign, then the neutrals would jump to support him.

In Harry's opinion, the neutrals were a badly underestimated force. Never involving themselves in political affairs, never getting caught in the endless catfight between the Light and Dark, the neutrals were easy to ignore- but they were still immensely powerful. Without any ancestral allegiances to either dominant faction, the neutral families could do as they pleased.

Except in one thing. The neutrals looked to the House of Greengrass for guidance. If a Greengrass became interested in Harry's efforts to clean up Slytherin's reputation…

The implications were simply staggering- and more than enough to snap Harry out of his black mood.

"Daphne Greengrass, heiress of the House of Greengrass." It wasn't a question.

Blaise shook his head. "Nope, the _other _Daphne Greengrass."

Harry grinned, his foul temper forgotten.

Blaise decided to press on. "I met with her around the beginning of the year, right after you humiliated Malfoy and people started getting interested in you. She was interested in your cleaning crew, so I asked her to gauge the neutrals' opinion. Turns out that a lot of Slytherin neutrals are sick of our lousy rep."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense. The rep gets in the way of everyone's plans- except Snape."

Blaise agreed. "The only problem is that our cleaning crew will go directly against Snape's wishes- and probably Dumbledore's, too, since he hired the greasy git in the first place."

Harry gazed pensively at his snake. "In other words, we have to do something to break Snape's power- preferably something public and humiliating."

"You mean a prank?" asked Blaise hopefully.

His friend grinned, then turned to the snake. He hissed something in Parseltongue. The snake hissed back.

For one wild moment, Blaise wondered what kind of crazy pranks a snake could cook up.

Harry leaned down and deposited his snake (familiar? friend?) on the floor. "Sisith's volunteered to scout him out, look for weak spots in his schedule when we can jinx him."

"Sisith? That's your snake's name?"

Two pairs of eyes met, one green, one brown. "Yeah. Sisith. It means 'sun-heating-the-stones' in Parseltongue." His eyes narrowed. "Since you've found out about him, I'm gonna tell Hermione and Neville too. But _don't _tell anyone else about me being a Parselmouth."

Blaise saluted. "Yessir, milord."

Harry laughed, all vestiges of his ill temper dissipating. "So. When can I meet with Lady Greengrass?"

* * *

"Miss Greengrass," said Harry formally, extending his hand. The two young wizards stood just inside the Forbidden Forest, completely hidden from the eyes of Hogwarts.

"Mr. Potter," she answered, just as gravely.

Blaise burst out laughing. Both his allies glared at him. "Sorry," he panted, "but you're eleven years old and behaving like my grandmother!"

Harry and Daphne glanced at each other. Harry's face broke into a grin. "When he puts it that way…"

Daphne smiled her perfect smile. She was, Harry noticed, rather pretty when she smiled like that. "I've never thought about it that way."

Harry nodded. "I think that we should just skip the foreplay and cut to the chase. Is that all right with you, Miss Greengrass?"

Daphne nodded. "It's not very Slytherin, I'll admit, but as Mr. Zabini pointed out, we are only eleven."

"Call me Blaise."

"And call me Harry," the other boy said, sensing that Daphne might appreciate that.

"Very well then. Call me Daphne."

Harry folded his hands. He was a bit uncomfortable at speaking so bluntly- even after just two months in Slytherin House, he had become accustomed to holding his tongue- but if it earned him an ally…

"Slytherin House has been anathema for too long. We are just as good as the other Houses but are unfairly maligned. Jerks like Malfoy and Snape have all the power, and their actions destroy the name of our House. It's time to bring our House back to its former position of greatness." He winced internally. That speech had sounded a lot less dorky in his head.

"How do you intend to 'clean up' our House's reputation?"

"First, I intend to knock the visible vipers off their high horses. Second, I will place the less poisonous Slytherins in 'ambassador positions'- positions from which they can demonstrate to Hogwarts that Slytherin House is not just a breeding ground for Dark Wizards and pureblooded bigots. Third, I will put measures in place that will prevent Malfoy's ilk from gaining power ever again."

"What are your future plans?"

Harry met her eyes. Here was the time that bluntness was most risky. "It's not just Slytherin House that needs cleaning." He had no doubts that she and Blaise understood him.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "In other words, you seek to end pureblood power."

"No, I just want to curb it."

"But still," Daphne continued, "supporting you will force the neutrals to make a stand."

"No." To both Slytherins' surprise, this statement came from Blaise. "This doesn't have to be a long-term alliance. Cleaning up Slytherin House won't force the neutrals to make a stand; it'll just make us more powerful as Malfoy and his trained gorillas lose power. Supporting Harry in school doesn't necessarily mean that you'll support him afterwards." His gaze was clear and unflinching. "Of course, the seven year period of help will give you a chance to get to know us and better decide if our post-graduation goals are worth your time."

The Greengrass heir nodded again, very, very slowly. "You're right." She wished that her parents were there to help her decide, but they had made it very clear that she was in charge of her own decisions- at least while at Hogwarts. Training for when she was the Head of her House. "I will let you know of my decision in the morning."

* * *

"Well?" Harry asked his friend nervously.

"Huh?" Blaise asked. He had been staring at Ron Weasley with his customary amazement. "How does his mother _feed _him?"

"I don't know," Harry answered dryly, "and I was wondering what Daphne would decide." He lowered his voice. "Sisith's been watching her. He said that she sat in bed for hours yesterday, doing nothing but thinking. He complained a lot about how boring it was."

Blaise blinked, still unused to his friend's Parselmouth abilities. "Okay." He collected himself. "I think we've got about a fifty-fifty chance."

"Well, you're no help."

"Hey, I'm just an Occlumens. I can't read minds. Yet."

In Harry's pocket, Sisith laughed. The Parselmouth sighed silently, wistfully. He wished that Blaise and Sisith could understand each other. He had the feeling that they would really get along.

Daphne Greengrass walked into the Great Hall. Harry and Blaise looked at her intently. Both boys held their breath. This was it!

Very, very slowly, the Slytherin girl walked in. She walked sedately down the Slytherin table, past Malfoy and his goons, past the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, right over to Harry and Blaise. Many of their Housemates looked up. The Greengrass scion usually sat alone, trying to avoid the implication of an alliance.

She broke that tradition and sat down right next to Harry Potter.

"I will support you in your quest to bolster our House's reputation," she said quietly, deliberately.

Harry smiled, held out a hand. "Thank you for your support." In his pocket, Sisith laughed in triumph.

* * *

Yay, more Daphne! But what does this alliance mean? Will it evolve into friendship? Why am I asking you?

I know that all three of them are very serious for eleven-year-olds, but I have my reasons. Daphne and Blaise were raised in an environment where their every word could be used against their respective families (Daphne especially). They were raised to be cautious and calculating. Harry has his experiences at the Dursleys and, of course, the hat's gift.

And no, Sorting Hat's Gift is not going to be Harry/Daphne. They've just met, and they're _eleven. _

Again, thank you all my reviewers. If you haven't reviewed (or even if you have) review!

-Antares


	12. The Scoop of the Century

Back again!

This chapter is dedicated to jesusfreak100percent.

Chaosmagi, thanks for the info.

ShyGirl07, I make up the quotes. They are all figments of my imagination. As for your second question… wait and see.

Call015, Harry's not an Animagus- yet.

Nxkris, I will rant at Dumbledore, hopefully next chapter.

Barefoot Bohemian, thank you for correcting my pronunciation. If you're not him and reading this, I mispronounced Samhain. BB told me that it's pronounced sow-win

Disclaimer: Still don't own HP. That's why I'm in therapy.

* * *

_Born to the Lion and given to the Snake _

_Marked as a child by lightning and light _

_Dreamer of dreams, even awake_

_Flame who sets the world alight. _

_-The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

There was nothing Rita Skeeter loved more than a good scandal. Humiliation, controversy, abject misery: these things were the spice of her life, the reason for her existence.

And nothing was spicier than what she had learned here in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She had been lured to the school by an anonymous note. It told her of a troll attack two days ago, right on Halloween night. A few hours of undercover work (also known as shameless spying) in her beetle form had confirmed the rumors- and so much more!

Oh, there was enough juice in the troll story to last her years: Albus Dumbledore's incompetent handling of the entire affair, the fact that a troll had made its way through Hogwarts' famous wards, and Severus Snape's unprofessional abandonment of his entire House. But there were more secrets in these walls than just a mere troll.

The beetle found a secure place on the streets of Hogsmeade and reverted to her human form. Not even bothering to sit down, she whipped out a Quick-Quotes Quill. An ecstatic laugh escaped her lips.

This was the scoop of the century!

* * *

"Everyone, I have something to tell you!"

Harry blinked. It seemed that he wasn't the only one with a secret. "What is it, Hermione?"

She beamed at him, not noticing that he, too, had wanted to speak. "It's the fifth years. They have some very important tests this year, their O.W.L.s- that's short for Ordinary Wizarding Levels- and the O.W.L.s cover all the things they've learned throughout their entire career, including History of Magic, and some of the fifth years in my House came over to me and asked for some of our notes. I know that we only intended to sell them to first years, maybe a few of the more enthusiastic second years, but I think that this could be a really good opportunity for us."

Harry blinked. Hermione's enthusiasm could sometimes be disconcerting.

Neville just looked confused.

"Oh, that's right," Hermione muttered, chagrined. "We haven't really gotten around to selling our Better than Binns line to Gryffindor House."

"Er… Better than Binns?"

"Blaise named it," Harry said by way of explanation. "We're starting a line of notes. We were originally going to just do history notes (that's where they got the name) but then Hermione had the bright idea of selling really good notes for every subject."

Neville was fascinated. "Can I write the Herbology notes?" he asked eagerly. Everyone laughed.

As soon as everyone calmed down, Blaise announced, "Harry has something to tell us!"

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw looked up, curious.

Harry grinned mischievously. "I don't know Blaise, maybe I shouldn't tell them."

Blaise snorted. "Keep Hermione Granger from knowledge? Harry, mate, you've got a death wish."

"For a funny guy," Sisith announced loudly, "Blaise is no fun." The snake stuck his head out of Harry's pocket.

Neville yelped, jerked back. Hermione shrieked. Harry decided that he was happy they were on the grounds and not in the school. "Harry, there's a snake in your pocket!"

"Yeah. His name's Sisith. That's Parseltongue for 'sun-heating-the-stones.'"

For a few seconds, all four children were silent. Then Neville squeaked out, "Parseltongue?"

"Well," Harry drawled, "that's the only language he speaks, so I assume it's Parseltongue."

"You're a Parselmouth?" gasped Hermione.

"I sure hope so. If I'm not, I've been hearing voices for years…" Blaise laughed. "And yes, Hermione, I do have a book on Parseltongue." He reached into his book bag and drew out _A History of Parseltongue. _"It's by Bathilda Bagshot, the lady who wrote our History of Magic books. It talks all about famous Parselmouths, different kinds of magical snakes, and how snakes and Parselmouths affect each other."

Hermione beamed at him, clutching the book to her chest like a child would hold its teddy. "Thank you! I'll read it right away!"

"But I wanted to read it right away," whined Blaise.

Hermione jerked back, holding the book possessively. The three boys and one snake laughed at her. After a moment, the young Ravenclaw joined in.

"Um," Neville said shyly, "does… Sisith… bite?"

"No," Harry lied. He knew that the Gryffindor had nothing to worry about. Sisith only bit people like the Dursleys or Malfoy.

Screwing up the famous Gryffindor courage, Neville reached out and touched Sisith's head. His eyes widened in shocked delight. "He's not slimy!"

"_Slimy_!" shrieked the offended snake.

Harry bit back a laugh. He was about to explain that, contrary to popular belief, snakes _weren't _slimy, but Hermione beat him to it. "Serpents are reptiles, not amphibians," she said happily. "Reptiles have dry, scaly skin, three- or four-chambered hearts, and cold blood. Amphibians have moist skin and the ability to breathe underwater. They're the slimy ones."

"Oh," said Neville, embarrassed.

"I have yet to meet a slimy snake," Harry agreed, "unless you count Snape. His hair is _really _slimy."

The four friends laughed, and Harry released the secret worry that had grown in his heart. No, these would not abandon one with the "mark of a Dark Wizard."

* * *

Word of Daphne Greengrass's "defection" to Harry Potter spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. The news was so sensational, so amazing, that it almost eclipsed the ever-present rumors about Mark Potter's home life. Portraits ran to one another to spread the word. Politically astute students- even ones from different Houses- gossiped about it in the halls. And the furious Albus Dumbledore called the Head of Slytherin House to his office.

Every vestige of his grandfatherly demeanor had vanished. He sat behind his desk in a towering fury, eyes blazing with frozen fire. "Why," he demanded, "did you not prevent this?"

Snape thought fast. He knew that he could lose his job, his memories, perhaps even his freedom. "Because they are first years," he said coldly. "I have better ways to spend my time than destroying the plots of eleven-year-olds." Even if one of those eleven-year-olds was the spawn of James Potter.

"One of whom is heir to the most powerful neutral House in Wizarding Britain," Dumbledore growled.

"Greengrass," his Potions Master retorted, "had no connections with either Potter or Zabini. There was no reason to suspect that she would break her House's infamous neutrality." Another idea struck him, one which would make him completely unaccountable. "Or rather, that her _parents _would break the House's neutrality, especially for an unknown half-breed."

Dumbledore nodded darkly. "Yes: every Greengrass acts on behalf of the House. However-" his blue eyes bored into Snape's black ones- "the girl acted as liaison for her parents. Had you been paying attention to her, as you should have, this never would have happened."

"I," Snape growled, "was watching over the Brat-Who-Lived- at _your _instructions."

As soon as the words left his lips, he knew he'd made a huge mistake. Snape wondered how long the punishment would last this time.

"_Imperio!_"

* * *

It was Daphne Greengrass's second day of sitting with Harry and Blaise, and she was beginning to like them. However, the Greengrasses had a pragmatic view of friendship: like whom you will, trust those you can, but don't let it get in the way of your plans. In Daphne's opinion, the family adage was very smart.

She smiled slightly as she buttered her bagel, waiting for the daily attack of the owls. She had sent her dear barn owl, Atlas, out with a letter from home; perhaps he would come back today with her parents' response. No, she decided, that was unlikely: he had only left yesterday. Perhaps the letter would arrive tomorrow.

As if on cue, the flock of owls soared into the Great Hall. One of them, a small spotted owl, flew over to Blaise and landed in his plate of pancakes. The young wizard cursed. "Smokey, get out of my syrup!" Beside him, Harry burst out laughing. His own snowy owl, Hedwig, was nowhere to be seen.

Daphne allowed herself a wider smile at their antics, then turned her attention to the seething mass of owls. Sure enough, a dark brown owl soared down to her.

The Greengrass heir thanked it, deposited two Knuts into its pouch, and opened up today's edition of the Daily Prophet. When she saw the headline, she gasped.

Harry instantly dropped his playful mood. "What is it?" he demanded.

Daphne handed him the paper. Harry's eyes bugged out. Blaise looked over his shoulder at the headline, which screamed:

_Boy-Who-Lived Abused! _

Without a word, the three allies began to read.

_Ten years ago, Mark Potter defeated the most feared Dark Lord in Wizarding History. The defeat of You-Know-Who restored peace to the Wizarding World, saved countless hundreds from death, and rescued those under You-Know-Who's Imperious curses. Mark Potter saved the Wizarding World- and this is how he was repaid. _

_After Halloween 1981, Mark Potter was spirited away from the ruins of his parents' home by Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Acting on the orders of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Hagrid abandoned the infant Mark on the doorstep of his Muggle relatives, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. _

_Instead of treating the hero of the Wizarding World with the respect and love he deserved, the Dursleys used young Mark like a house-elf. While their fat Muggle son, Dudley, lived a life of leisure, Mark was sweeping the house, scrubbing the floor, and dusting the furniture. When he attempted to rest from his back-breaking work, the Dursleys shrieked that he was an ungrateful, lazy, good-for-nothing freak! _

"I don't believe this!" Harry hissed furiously. Blaise's mouth tightened as he glowered at the paper.

Daphne remained calm. "It can't be that accurate. After all, she didn't mention you once."

Harry took back the paper. His eyes blurred as he read it. "They don't," he muttered, "but everything else is accurate."

Daphne's eyes widened. "What?"

Harry nodded darkly, still scanning the article. "Huh," he muttered. "Says here that Dumbledore is petitioning the Wizengamot to grant me and Mark- just says Mark, actually, but I suppose I'm included by default- emancipation. Covering his tracks, the reporter claims. I wouldn't be surprised." He groaned softly. "I'd better go tell Mark. None of his Gryffie friends get the Prophet."

The elder Potter walked over to the Gryffindor table, shoulders set like he was walking to a funeral.

* * *

Why, oh why had he sent Rita Skeeter that anonymous note? Harry wondered miserably. Oh, yeah: to expose the troll incident.

He could have screamed in frustration and fury.

And he wasn't the only one.

Mark paced furiously across the hall. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to tell him before he'd finished breakfast, but Mark deserved to know that the proverbial cat was out of the bag. He waited in silence as his brother kept pacing.

Finally, the Boy-Who-Lived turned to his brother and asked, "Why?"

Harry quickly weighed his options. He could tell Mark about his anonymous note to Skeeter, or he could play dumb.

He sighed. "At least Dumbledore is aiming to emancipate us."

"Er… what's emancipation?"

"That means he's freeing us from our so-called relatives."

Mark beamed at him. Harry smiled back. He didn't like the headmaster, but if he succeeded, the brothers would definitely owe him.

No, scratch that. If what Skeeter said was true, Dumbledore left them there in the first place! He would ask Hagrid, Harry decided.

He would also have to look up a voice-changing spell. He had a Howler to write.

* * *

Poor Harry. His first real scheme, and it backfired horribly.

Has anyone ever wondered why Dumbledore never gets Howlers?

Thanks again for all those who reviewed.

-Antares


	13. Enter Remus Lupin

Thanks to all those who pointed out that Dumbledore really does get Howlers. I just meant that he never gets them in public, and that's what Harry is wondering about too.

Disclaimer: I am getting really tired of these things. Let's just assume that I am not JK Rowling and will not become JK Rowling during the course of this story, and therefore do not own HP. If I do become JK before this story is over, I'll be sure to let you know. Consider the rest of this story disclaimed.

This chapter is dedicated to Barefoot Bohemian, who keeps diligently correcting my pronunciation of Samhain.

* * *

_He is the ward of the moon. _

_He will bring forth the gift _

_From the cursed gift _

_And break the curse of the moon. _

_-The Prophecies, _Helga Hufflepuff

"Remus!" barked Tyr Ulfhednar, Fenrir Greyback's chief rival for control of the British werewolves.

The younger werewolf looked up automatically. "Yes?" He had a very high opinion of Tyr, who had become one of Remus' closest friends after Lily, James, and Peter's deaths.

The grizzled elder wolf handed his friend a battered newspaper. "You were friends with the Potters, right?"

"Yes," answered Remus, taking the paper. "I was little Harry's godfather; Sirius was Mark's." At Tyr's confused look, he explained, "Harry is Mark's twin."

Tyr frowned at him. "Then why didn't you take them?"

Remus' shoulders slumped. "When I heard that James and Lily… when I heard what happened to them, I flew as fast as I could to Godric's Hollow, but the twins weren't there. After that, I went to Hogwarts. Dumbledore told me he'd put the twins in a secure location, where they couldn't be threatened by Dark Wizards." He sighed. "I asked to see him, but he told me that if I saw the twins, someone might be able to track them down. I haven't seen Harry or Mark for ten years."

Tyr snorted. "Secure location, my left foot. He left them with Muggles!"

Remus' jaw dropped as he jumped up from his chair. "What?"

"Read the paper," Tyr ordered quietly.

* * *

Harry and Blaise stared expectantly at the High Table. "How many Howlers do you think he's going to get?" asked Blaise.

"Hopefully a lot," Harry answered.

Daphne chuckled at them. "I don't think he'll get any- at least not here. Have either of you ever seen him get a piece of mail?"

Blaise swore. "Come on!"

Harry groaned. "The other teachers do," he complained.

The owls flew in, and the two boys resumed their vigil over the High Table. As Daphne had predicted, not one owl flew to Dumbledore.

Daphne took her paper and smiled. "Oh! Rita Skeeter wrote another story. No, it's not about your brother," she added, seeing Harry's glare, "it's about the troll." The boys cheered. Daphne rolled her eyes. "Don't you two have anything better to do than gloat over the headmaster's misfortune?"

"Nope," they answered simultaneously.

"Boys," the Greengrass heir muttered. Her eyes scanned the paper. "You'll be glad to know that Skeeter is being very uncomplimentary to our dear headmaster."

"Good," growled Harry. Then he sighed. "I looked up a voice-changing spell and made a Howler."

Blaise looked impressed. "Wish I knew how to make Howlers."

"I'll teach you," Harry promised.

His friend shook his head. "Blimey, mate, you know things most first years never think about. How do you _learn _these things?"

Harry flinched internally, remembering his promise to the Sorting Hat- a promise he'd already broken with Sisith. He forced his face to remain calm and shrugged. "Guess I've got a good memory."

Daphne gave him a strange look, obviously not buying it. Blaise frowned skeptically at him.

Harry sighed. "Sworn to secrecy," he explained guiltily.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "A Slytherin who keeps his vows? I almost wonder if the sky is falling."

Blaise looked up at the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling. "It's not."

The rest of the day passed quickly for Harry. He and his allies discussed the problem of Professor Snape and suggested several ways to deal with him. Blaise was in favor of a humiliating prank, but Daphne didn't want to do anything so juvenile. And anyways, she pointed out, they were a bunch of first years against a professor. They wouldn't be able to get near him with a spell or potion.

At those words, Blaise froze. A pensive expression came onto his face. Then his features broke into the sort of grin which inspired nightmares. "Who says we have to hit _him?_"

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know.

However, he was quickly distracted from Blaise's… whatever-it-was… by his own plots. The more he thought about his devious plan, the more he liked it. All he needed was Sisith's cooperation, and the serpent was glad to help.

"I'm here, Harry," the serpent said.

Harry jumped, looked quickly around the broom shed. No one was there, which really wasn't surprising, considering that it was one o'clock in the morning. "Did you find it?" he whispered.

"You don't need to whisper, you know," his companion pointed out. "We're speaking in Parseltongue, and anyways, no one's anywhere near us."

"Did you find it?" Harry repeated- this time in a normal tone of voice.

"Yes," Sisith answered smugly. "Dumbledore's mail is intercepted at night by a bunch of little wrinkly things."

"Wrinkly things?" Harry repeated blankly.

"Little wrinkly things. They look like humans, but they're smaller and have disproportionally large heads and huge eyes. And they're dressed in things that look like tea towels."

At the words 'tea towels,' it clicked in Harry's head. An image flashed in his mind: Hogwarts' house-elves, busily working in the kitchen. One of them turned and noticed him, and a huge smile broke across its craggy face.

"Whoa," Harry muttered.

"What?" asked Sisith.

"That… something… the hat gave me…. They're called house-elves, Sisith. And… I _saw _them."

"So?" the snake queried.

Harry shook his head. "Before tonight, I've always just known things. I mean, the knowledge was just… just _there._ This time, I _saw _the house-elves, like an image went with the gift."

"What?" Sisith repeated, more quietly. "_How?_"

"I don't know," Harry replied, perturbed by the strange new facet of his gift, "I don't know at all."

* * *

Blaise, as usual, was gaping at Ron Weasley's eating prowess when Harry walked into the Great Hall and plopped down between him and Daphne. Blaise looked around, about to tell his friends that Ron had scarfed down _six _gigantic pancakes. Then he shut his mouth.

Harry looked terrible. His eyes were red with black bags under them, his hair was even messier than usual, and he was yawning so widely that his jaw cracked audibly. "What happened?" the Zabini heir queried.

Harry forced his jaws shut and grinned wearily. "Nothing much. I just stayed up all night."

Blaise groaned. "You spent all night in the library? That's nuts, Harry, even for you."

"Not the library," the younger boy answered. "That room on the sixth floor that always smells really bad."

"Why'd you read there?" Blaise demanded.

"Not reading," Harry mumbled.

"Then what were you doing?" asked Daphne.

Harry managed a bleary smile. "Practicing my Summoning Charm."

"That's fourth year material!" she exclaimed.

Harry nodded. "Sworn to secrecy, remember?"

"World's still not ending," Blaise observed, glancing at the ceiling. "But the owls are coming."

It was as if he'd thrown a bucket of cold water over Harry. He jerked up straight in his seat and fixed his suddenly focused eyes on the High Table. Daphne rolled her eyes. "_Still_ hoping that Dumbledore will get a Howler?"

A small phalanx of about ten owls separated from the flock and dove to the high table. They landed in front of the bemused Professor McGonagall, who had probably never received so much mail in her life. Confused, she began removing the letters from the owls' legs.

She had gotten three off before the first Howler erupted.

"DUMBLEDORE!" screamed a woman's enraged voice. "HOW _DARE_ YOU LET A TROLL INTO YOUR SCHOOL! I OUGHT TO COME OVER AND-"

But no one would ever learn just what the woman out to come over and do, because that was when the second Howler began shrieking. "DUMBLEDORE, YOU INCOMPETENT, SENILE OLD FOOL! LEAVING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED WITH _MUGGLES! _FILTHY, COMMON _MUGGLES! _YOU SHOULD BE LYN-"

Argus Filch ran into the Hall, his eyes wide and wild. He took one look at the Howlers, two of which were screaming and many of which were smoking in preparation to scream, and let out a shriek of horror. As if on cue, the third Howler exploded into sound.

"Darn," Harry muttered. "I was hoping they'd go off one at a time." In his pocket, Sisith moaned. He hated loud noises.

McGonagall had finally stopped untying Howlers, but it was too late. They began going off- on the owls' feet.

Harry flinched. He hadn't thought about the poor birds.

"I shouldn't have come. It's not worth it," Sisith moaned. Harry flinched, reached into his pocket, and surreptitiously deposited his friend on the floor. "Thanks," the snake said gratefully as he slithered away.

Harry just wished he could follow.

* * *

Remus Lupin stood at the gates of Hogwarts for the first time in fourteen years.

"You going in or not?" asked Tyr. The grizzled alpha was getting irritated with his friend's hesitation.

"Just worrying about the wards," Remus replied.

Tyr snorted. "If those wards let in a troll, they'll let in two werewolves."

"_Two_ werewolves?"

Grey eyes met amber. "Yes, two. You're not the only one who needs to talk with the headmaster."

Remus glanced at the gates again and wondered how to prolong this even more. "What will you talk about?"

Tyr smiled grimly. "Why he hasn't let any werewolf cubs into Hogwarts since you."

Remus blinked. "I'm sure he has his reasons," the Marauder said doubtfully.

"Just like he had his reasons for letting your twins be raised by Muggles?"

Remus couldn't answer that. He looked at the gates again, took a deep breath, and pushed them open.

Nothing happened. The younger werewolf was almost surprised. It seemed strange that such a life-changing occurrence was not marked by some miraculous portent.

"Scary," Tyr observed dryly.

Remus smiled sheepishly at him. "Come on, Tyr. Let's go in."

* * *

Howlers, the students of Hogwarts quickly learned, were enchanted to prevent any silencing or muffling spells. No incantation could quiet the Howlers' horrible noise. The students exited the Hall in droves, hands over their ears, eyes screwed up in pain. Not one of them dared to remove his hands from his ears until he was on the second floor. Even then, Dumbledore's mail was still audible.

An eternity passed before the first Howler finished its tirade. Another flashed by before the second stopped. A third eon probably passed before the third quit its howling, but the Slytherin three could only guess, for they had joined the deafened throng of students which were fleeing the hall.

"What was _that?" _Blaise panted, after he finally deemed it safe to uncover his ears. "A legion of _banshees?" _

Harry blinked at him stupidly, having gone temporarily deaf from the horrible noise. Daphne shook her head to clear the ringing from her ears.

Blaise glared at Harry. "Were _you _responsible for that?"

But the Parselmouth was still deaf and had no idea what his friend was saying.

Blaise groaned, grabbed the other Slytherins by their arms. "C'mon," he muttered. "Let's talk on the grounds."

* * *

Hogwarts… even all these years later, it was still the same. There was the Whomping Willow, at peace today, and there the greenhouses, filled with hundreds of fascinating plants…. Even the students seemed the same, wandering the grounds like they had in Remus' school years.

It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"All right, Remus?" asked his alpha.

"Yes," the younger wolf answered. "Just nostalgic."

"If I have anything to say about it," Tyr promised, "all our cubs will come here. Why don't you take a look around? I'll talk to Dumbledore first; I want him in a good mood."

Remus nodded, drinking the sights in. Yes, he could delay just a little longer.

Tyr walked off, and Remus began slowly meandering towards the Entrance Chamber. He smiled, glad he remembered so much about his second home. There was the Owlery; that was Gryffindor Tower; that was where the Ravenclaws slept.

"HARRY!" roared a boy's voice, shattering Remus' nostalgia. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"I don't think he can, Blaise," said a girl's voice. "I think all those Howlers made him a bit deaf."

Remus glanced over at the speakers, about to remonstrate the shouter, and gasped out loud. _James was there! _

No, he realized a second later, not James. But the boy who was rubbing his ears could have been James' twin…

Or his son.

Harry, the black boy had called him. Harry Potter.

Remus' godson.

He froze like a deer in headlights, gaping at this young James-clone. Harry was so much like his father.

Then Harry looked up. Their eyes met- Lily's eyes! - and the wolf in Remus reared.

He gasped, grabbing at his chest, startled and horrified. He could _feel _the werewolf that rooted in his soul, the furry madness that escaped only on the full moon. It, too, stared at Harry.

"Sir?" the boy asked loudly. "Are you all right?"

He even sounded like James! Remus forced himself to nod. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" The black boy sounded worried. What was his name? He knew it started with a B.

"I'm sure," he assured them. "It just lasted a second." He kept his eyes on Harry's face, still marveling at the similarity between father and son.

A look of suspicion crossed Harry's face. "Why are you staring at me?" he demanded, startling Remus by the authority in his voice. The inner wolf, still looking through Remus' eyes, recognized an alpha and flopped onto its back. Remus' eyes narrowed. Why did his furry little problem submit to James' child?

"Are you… Harry James Potter?" he asked thickly.

"I am," he replied, the green eyes boring into Remus' amber orbs. "Why did you ask? And how did you guess?"

"Because," Remus whispered, "you look so much like your father… but you have your mother's eyes." He swallowed. "I'm Remus Lupin. When you and your brother were born… James and Lily made me your godfather."

* * *

I love cliffies. And reviews. And reviewers. So read and review!

In case you couldn't figure out how Harry got the Howlers, he stole some Howlers from the house-elves' mail pile and readdressed them to McGonagall, who usually sits next to Dumbledore.

-Antares


	14. The Werewolf

To all my reviewers: thank you, thank you, thank you! You guys are all wonderful, and I really wish that I could thank you properly. I'm gonna try to dedicate a chapter to each of you (hopefully I'll have enough chapters!).

This chapter is dedicated to Cinnamon Selkie.

* * *

_He will break their faith and break their bonds, _

_He will stand as the master of two wands. _

_He will hold the moon in the palm of his hand _

_And rebuild the doors to the hidden land. _

_-The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

Stage fright was a common fear among humans. Uncertainty, worry, doubt: all were present in stage fright. In fact, many people were more afraid of public speaking than they were of dying.

Remus could sympathize.

Harry Potter glared at him from across the table. "Here's lunch," he said coldly, handing Remus a plateful of shepherd's pie.

"Thank you," the werewolf said. Then, shyly, "And thank you for agreeing to speak with me." He looked at Harry- and at Mark.

Where Harry was the spitting image of James, Mark was a mix of his two parents. His brown hair (probably inherited from Grandpa Charlus) was just as messy as James'. His eyes were shaped like Lily's, but that brown-hazel color had belonged to his father. Lily's nose, James' chin, the father's cheekbones, the mother's high forehead. Mark was the perfect mural of his parents' features.

It brought a lump to his throat, seeing the twins together.

Awkward silence reigned for a few seconds, then Harry coldly asked, "You say you're my godfather?"

Remus nodded.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And not Mark's?"

"Sirius Black was Mark's godfather," Remus sighed.

"And how come _he's _not materializing out of the woodwork?"

The werewolf grimaced. "He's in Azkaban. Wizard's prison."

Harry moved slightly closer to Mark, as though anticipating a need to protect him. "Why?"

Remus groaned inwardly. He really hadn't wanted to discuss that filthy traitor on their first meeting. "Well… James and Sirius were best friends in school. They only got closer as the years went by. Sirius was even the best man at James' wedding. It only made sense that your parents would make him their Secret-Keeper."

"What's a Secret-Keeper?" asked Mark. Harry remained silent, glaring suspiciously at his godfather.

Now, how to explain the most complex charm out there to a first year? "There is a spell called the Fidelius Charm. The charm seals a piece of information inside a single soul. This information can be anything, but is usually a location. The person who receives the information is called a Secret-Keeper. Once the charm is performed, only the Secret-Keeper can disclose the information in his soul. Does that make sense?"

Mark looked a bit lost, but Harry seemed to understand. "So no one except Sirius Black- the Secret-Keeper – could have given away the location of our parents' house."

Mark's eyes widened in realization. "Then he sold them out to You-Know-Who!"

"Yes," whispered Remus.

"But-" Mark spluttered, "but he's my godfather. He couldn't have done it!" The Boy-Who-Lived looked around wildly, as though searching for an alternative explanation. "Maybe something went wrong with the charm. Maybe he's really innocent!"

Remus shook his head. "Dumbledore himself performed the charm."

Mark seemed assuaged, but Harry actually seemed even more distrustful. "You're one of the headmaster's fans, then?"

"Harry," Mark groaned, thumping him on the back. He turned to Remus, smiling apologetically. "He blames the headmaster for our years at the Dursleys."

Remus instantly thought of Tyr Ulfhednar. He and Harry would like each other.

"I haven't seen him for ten years," he answered.

Harry nodded, pleased that they had finally gotten to the point. "So what have you been doing for the past ten years?" _Why weren't you raising me and my brother? Why did you leave us with the Dursleys? _

"After your parents died… I was devastated. I couldn't believe it. As soon as I heard the news, I Apparated over to Godric's Hollow. In retrospect, the fact that I could get there should have tipped me off- Sirius told as few people as possible. 'Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead,' and that. But… your house was ruined, just a smoking wreck. I looked everywhere for you two, but then the Aurors came and made me leave." His physical eyes gazed down at his lunch. His true eyes looked back into the horrible, devastating past.

"I did the only thing I could think of. I tried to come here, to Hogwarts, but the gates wouldn't let me in. I waited there, wondering what to do, when Professor Dumbledore came.

"He told me that he had left you in a secure location. I begged to see you two, just to make sure you were all right, but he reminded me that Death Eaters were still about. If he showed me where you were hiding, we might have given your location away.

"I honestly thought that you were in a Wizarding household, being raised by a happy, loving family. And even if I had suspected that something was wrong, I knew that the Ministry would never let me raise either of you. So I abandoned you, let you be raised by those Dursleys."

"Why wouldn't the Ministry let you raise us?" asked Harry.

Remus stared at his teacup, fascinated by the pattern. "I'm a werewolf," he whispered.

Mark jerked away, looking horrified. Harry's eyes widened in shock. Remus prepared for the outburst.

"That explains a lot."

The werewolf blinked. Harry, who apparently hadn't noticed, kept talking. "The stupid Ministry would never let the Boy-Who-Lived be raised by a so-called 'Dark Creature.'"

"You don't _look _like a wolf," Mark muttered under breath.

Ironically, Remus' revelation seemed to assuage many of Harry's doubts. If that stupid magical government wouldn't let werewolves raise heroes, then it wasn't really Remus' fault that the Potters had been reared by the Dursleys. It was probably the first time someone had been treated better after letting the wolf out of the bag.

Mark, though, reacted in the normal manner. He stared at his brother's godfather nervously, apparently wondering if the gentle man would suddenly transform into a ravening beast and bite off his head. The reaction wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt to see a son of James and Lily acting that way.

"Are you going to try and gain custody?" Harry's voice was sad, almost wistful.

"I don't think I can," Remus admitted. "The laws say that werewolves can only raise their own children, or children who don't have anywhere else to go. Unless no one wants to take you in- which is doubtful, as Mark is the Boy-Who-Lived- I can't."

Disappointment flickered in Harry's eyes. Mark tried to hide a smile of relief. Remus tried to ignore the younger twin. He looked at Harry. "However, I suppose that you could come over for the holidays- provided there isn't a full moon then." He paused, thought. "I know that there is a full moon over Christmas break… perhaps you could come over in the spring."

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

Mark looked at the cheap watch on his wrist. "Er- it's almost time for class. Good bye, Mr. Lupin."

Harry glanced at his own watch and his eyes widened in horror. "Twelve fifty? Mark, we're going to be late!"

With that, the two Potters ran out of the room.

* * *

Saysa smiled. Her golden eyes gazed upon an ancient, monkeyish statue. "You didn't think he'd make it so far," she murmured in its direction. "But no, Salazar, the Chosen One has passed the fifth trial. Only two remain."

* * *

Harry spent the day searching his mental lexicon for information on werewolves. Unsurprisingly, the hat's gift proved a veritable encyclopedia.

Werewolves had been stigmatized for centuries. The HG didn't know of a time when the shape-shifters weren't hated, and it seemed that their lot just worsened over the centuries.

In the earliest days of Hogwarts, a few werewolves had attended, but they were all banned from the school by 1158. Things went downhill from then.

The first werewolf census took place in 1207, followed shortly thereafter by the first mandatory werewolf registry. For a period beginning in the late thirteenth century to ending in the mid fifteenth, all werewolves were required to wear a crescent moon embroidered onto their sleeves. By the dawn of the Renaissance, werewolves were being rounded up and shoved into concentration camps (pardon me, _containment facilities_). They had little to no legal rights, were unable to testify in a court of law, and were forced to perform manual labor until someone offered them a job- which, as only wizards could legally employ werewolves, never happened. As far as Harry knew, all of these laws were still in place- still affecting Remus.

In other words, werewolves had suffered from centuries of prejudice, and Harry was not thrilled about Mark adding to the load.

"You were a _prat, _Mark," snapped Harry.

"_I _was a prat?" the Boy-Who-Lived repeated incredulously. "_You're _the one who was ready to hex him!"

Harry grimaced. "That was because I thought he was trying to get at you through me, not because he was a werewolf."

"How's that any different?"

"I wasn't prejudiced!"

"Ron's told me a lot of stories 'bout werewolves. He and Seamus say that werewolves kill babies and suck on their marrow."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. "The same Ron and Seamus who claim all Slytherins are Dark Wizards?"

Mark turned red. "You're insulting my friends again!"

"_No,_" his brother snarled, "I'm just saying that they're wrong about werewolves!"

Mark laughed insultingly. "This from Mr. I-don't-trust-anybody!"

"You trust too much!"

"You know what?" Mark snarled. "I don't have to listen to you, you paranoid possessive control freak!"

He spun around and stalked from the hall, leaving his fuming brother to steam.

* * *

"Stupid brainless git," Harry hissed (in English, though, not Parseltongue). "Moronic prejudiced dolt!" He would probably continued, but a nervous female voice interrupted.

"Er… Potter?"

The fuming Parselmouth spun around, ready to snap if this girl so much as _breathed _wrong. "Yes?" he replied coldly. Then he pulled up short. "Bulstrode?"

Millicent Bulstrode was a black-haired, thick-jawed girl in Harry's year. She looked like a young female body-builder. Harry didn't think he'd heard her talk before; she didn't answer questions in class, choosing to diligently write notes instead of talk. Harry vaguely remembered that she had been one of the first clients of the Better than Binns line.

Curiosity overwhelmed his simmering wrath, and the young Slytherin decided not to vent his spleen on her. Millicent seemed nervous, almost embarrassed. "Er… how far were you planning to take your Better than Binns thing?"

Harry blinked at her but obediently reeled off the market plan. "We plan to make notes for every subject, every year as we go through it. For instance, next year we'll sell both first and second year notes. We are trying to market to O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students, but that hasn't really kicked off yet outside of Ravenclaw. But yeah, we'll keep marketing the notes until we graduate, maybe even after."

"Have you considered tutoring?" Millicent asked shyly.

Harry's eyes widened. They _hadn't _considered it. "Not at this stage," he answered slowly. "However, like I said, we're just getting started with this."

Millicent looked at her feet. "It's not that I need a lot of tutoring, y'know," she muttered. "I don't answer a lot of questions, but I do pretty well on exams and stuff. I just like to think before I give answers. So yeah, I don't need tutoring in anything but History of Magic, and that's just because Binns is so bad. I thought that maybe, since you were making those notes…" Her voice trailed off.

"I'd have to check with my associates," Harry said, his mind racing through all the possibilities, "but I'm sure that we could set up some sort of arrangement."

Millicent smiled. Harry blinked, realizing that her smile made her look a whole lot less body builder-like. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "I'd like that a lot."

Harry grinned back. "I would too."

The rest of November passed by in a blur of activity. Harry's friends instantly took to Millicent's idea of tutoring. Even Daphne was caught up in the excitement, volunteering to help out with her two best subjects, Potions and Astronomy. Harry was rather worried about how she would interact with Hermione, but Daphne was characteristically neutral towards Hermione's Muggle parentage.

The Potter twins continued fuming at each other for two weeks, after which they forgave each other. But even though the brothers were on speaking terms again, neither one had apologized. Albus Dumbledore looked at the tension between them and smiled to himself, glad at the strain in the twins' relationship. It wouldn't be long now…

Harry and Remus began writing to one another. Harry would speak about school, about his friends and his conflicts with Malfoy. Remus, in return, recorded stories about his school days with James and their two friends, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. After reconciling with his brother, Harry shared the letters with him. Mark just pretended that they weren't written by a werewolf and cheerfully boasted to his friends about the pranks James would pull on Snape.

Blaise, too, was very interested in Remus' letters. He would look over the old school stories and cackle quietly to himself, as though compiling his own encyclopedia of prank ideas. He still hadn't unveiled his "grand scheme of magnificent humiliation," but promised it was only a matter of time. He would smile gleefully as he said this, only provoking further curiosity about the upcoming prank.

November passed, and December hurried behind her. Decorations began appearing around Hogwarts: silvery tinsel and brilliant boughs of evergreen; Christmas trees strewn with fairies and fake snow lining the Great Hall; red and green streamers cascading across the ceiling and halls. It seemed that every day a new wonder materialized, thrilling and bewitching the students. Remus' letters claimed that it was like this every year, something that Harry had a hard time believing. It seemed to him that the winter wonderland his school had become couldn't possibly be replicated year after year.

All too soon, students were making their holiday plans. Both Mark and Harry were swamped with invitations. Blaise, Neville, Hermione, and Daphne all invited the elder twin over; Ron, Seamus, and Dean begged Mark to come stay with them. Mark, of course, reveled in the attention. Harry, however, politely turned down his friends' offers. He and Mark hadn't spent much time together lately, he explained, and they wanted to spend Christmas together.

Dumbledore, naturally, was furious.

* * *

Cliffie, cliffie, cliffie! I love cliffies, don't you?

-Antares


	15. The Ghost in the Bathroom

I'm back! Sorry about not updating when I said I would; to make a long story short, I was busier than I expected when I got back. Thank you for your patience, everybody!

This chapter is dedicated to MidnightThief15, who says very nice things about me.

* * *

_Meekness and humility, hope and font of hidden strength, _

_The Prince of Flowers. _

_Brilliance and cunning, trust and high-soaring eagle, _

_The Daughter of Frost. _

_Wryness and wit, ambition and keen of sight, _

_The Smoking Mirror. _

_Intelligence and learning, wisdom and breaker of the riddle, _

_Truth's Messenger. _

_-The Prophecies, _Helga Hufflepuff

* * *

It was time for break. Children congregated in the Great Hall, desperately trying to speak once more with their friends before the holidays separated them. Those who had their baggage wondered loudly what to do with it; those without helplessly tried to regain some calm. The students who weren't leaving cackled silently at everyone else's misfortune- at least, when _they _weren't calling out to friends.

"Isn't this supposed to be breakfast?" Harry grumbled.

Blaise shrugged. "Don't suppose you know what to do about the baggage?"

"No," Harry growled. If he had a Knut for every time he'd been asked that…

When Blaise spoke again, his voice was low, furtive. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," his friend pointed out- but in the same low, inconspicuous tone as Blaise. "What d'you need?"

"There's a girl's bathroom on the second floor," the elder boy muttered. He held up a hand, stopping Harry's choked "What?" "Look, hear me out, okay? It's abandoned because it's haunted by some crazy ghost, and I've been using it to… uh…" He glanced around, nervous. "I've got a potion brewing in it. Y'know, for Snape. I just need you to make sure it doesn't burn or anything during break."

"You're trying to prank a _Potions_ _Master_ with a _potion_?" Harry hissed. He'd honestly expected better.

"Who said I was feeding it to _Snape_?" muttered Blaise.

Harry's eyes widened. Then he grinned.

* * *

"All right, what have I done now?"

Mark Potter glared at his brother. Truthfully, Harry hadn't actually done _anything; _but, as usual, a Slytherin was behind his problems. "Your Head of House ruined my Christmas!"

Harry groaned, strongly tempted to let out a few of Blaise's curses. "Okay then, what's _he _done now?"

"Detention!" exploded Mark. "Every night until break's over! Greasy, slimy git! And he's taken, like, a hundred points from Gryffindor!"

Well, that explained why the rubies in the Gryffindor hourglass were suddenly so sparse. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to the story than Mark was telling, but he treasured their rare twin time too much to speak up. He obediently began abusing Snape in progressively insulting and creative ways.

Then Ron Weasley barged in.

Harry stared in surprise at the redhead. "I thought you were going home for Christmas?" he asked, trying not to sound too put out. It was probably selfish, he knew, but Harry hadn't wanted anyone around to interfere with his twin time.

Ron glowered. "Bill invited Mum and Dad to Egypt."

Harry blinked. From what he'd heard, the Weasleys were a famously poor family. How, then, could Ron's parents afford an undoubtedly expensive trip abroad? But he tactfully chose not to ask. "Oh."

Ron glared at him. Harry suppressed a sigh. Apparently, he'd become a professional scapegoat.

Mark broke the silence between brother and friend. "So what do you want to do today?"

Ron perked up immediately. "Gobstones!"

As the next three days went by, Harry _did _spend hours with his brother- and with Ron. The red-haired boy was nice enough, he supposed, but rather lazy and not very bright. In many ways, he was the polar opposite of Hermione. Harry suspected that he and Ron would never be very close- but Ron was a good friend to Mark, and Harry was glad for that.

Their friendship also explained the younger twin's sudden skill in Gobstones and other magical games.

The three days with Ron and Mark were, like Ron himself, nice enough, but not exciting by any stretch of the imagination. On the third day Harry politely excused himself from his companions' game of wizard's chess (it had just started, so Mark wouldn't be creamed for at least five more minutes) and went to check on Blaise's potion.

He stood stupidly in front of the girls' bathroom, inexplicably blushing. No one was around- no portraits, no ghosts, not even a suit of armor- but he was still a little bit shy about entering this terra incognita.

Then he shook himself, told himself he was being stupid. The bathroom wasn't going to jump out and _eat _him!

Then again, this was Hogwarts. He could never be too sure…

Harry chuckled at his own stupidity. "It's a bathroom, mate," he muttered to himself. "Walk in, look at the potion, and walk out. Simple enough."

Still smiling ruefully, he stepped through the door-

_-he stepped through the door, cloaked under his strongest Disillusionment Charm. His hand gripped his wand tightly, securely. The rest of the castle he could explore without arousing suspicion, but appearing in a girls' bathroom would be very suspicious. That fool Dumbledore was already suspicious enough, in his opinion. _

_Not for the first time, he irritably wondered just _why _all the signs pointed to a bathroom, of all places. Slytherin, he decided moodily, had a very twisted sense of humor. _

_The boy- young man, really- hustled over to the sinks, began his inspection. Nothing, nothing, nothing… there! A tiny snake! _

_He stared at it in amazement, hardly believing that after so many years of searching, he had at last found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. _

"Open," _he ordered it in Parseltongue. The command was nearly drowned out by his thundering heart._

_And the sink obeyed. A gaping hole appeared in the bathroom wall, a wound in the fabric of Hogwarts. _"Stairs," _the youth ordered again, and again it obeyed. He took another step forward- _

-and snapped out of his trance, wondering what in the world had just happened.

Harry blinked, looked around. It looked like just an ordinary girls' bathroom, but his vision said otherwise.

And the Sorting Hat's gift had never lied before.

"You're a _boy,_" announced a high-pitched, rather whiny voice.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, one hand forming a fist, the other fumbling for his wand. Then he stopped.

The girl in front of him was young, thirteen or fourteen at the most. She wasn't very pretty- rather dumpy, with a head of thin, lank hair and thick, ugly glasses. She was also a ghost.

Harry blinked at her. She stared at him. Then Harry burst out laughing.

It wasn't the best move. The ghost girl's face contorted in fury. "Oh, laugh at Myrtle!" she shrieked (and for a dead girl, she had some pretty good lungs). "Fat Myrtle, stupid Myrtle, _dead _Myrtle!" In a whirl of ectoplasm, she fled into a stall, still wailing at the top of her dead lungs.

Harry gawked.

As Myrtle's screaming continued, though, his agile mind jerked back into action. He was so dearly tempted to go down the tunnel, to see just what was down there. But he knew he couldn't. If it was what he _thought _it was-

Well, Sisith had the right to know.

He absently looked at Blaise's potion, noting vaguely that it hadn't exploded or congealed, and started to the door. Then he stopped, walked back to a certain sink.

Inscribed on it was the tiny figure of a coiling snake.

* * *

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been so nervous and excited. Sisith, lounging in his book bag, shared the human's joy- and impatience. "Leave already!" he snapped.

Harry bit back a sigh, knowing that he couldn't exactly start hissing in front of Mark and Ron, who were playing yet another game of wizards' chess. Honestly, those two were obsessed…

"I'm gonna go to the library," he announced, naming a place that neither boy would willingly enter.

Vague nods from the combatants, and Harry took his leave. The instant he was out of the room, he began jogging towards Myrtle's bathroom. "Remember the plan?" the Parselmouth asked.

"Of course," answered Sisith. "Do you?"

Harry laughed, attracting stares from several portraits. He remembered.

"Myrtle?" he called a few minutes later. The self-pitying ghost stuck her head out of her stall, glared at him through her glasses.

"What do _you_ want?"

"I want to apologize," Harry lied. "I shouldn't have laughed at you yesterday."

_That _pulled Myrtle up short. She jerked her entire body out of the stall and rested a few inches above the bathroom floor. Silver eyes watched him suspiciously.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Harry explained. "I was laughing at myself. I've lived at Hogwarts for months now, so I really shouldn't be startled by a ghost." He gave his best, most dazzling smile. "So I've come to make it up to you."

Myrtle was suspicious. She had been victim of more than one cruel prank and couldn't help being distrustful of this seemingly kind boy, especially since he wore Slytherin robes.

Still smiling, Harry put down his bag- right on the serpent-marked sink. He reached into it, drew out several strands of silvery tinsel. Unbeknownst to Myrtle, however, a lithe black snake was twined in the tinsel. Careful not to hurt his friend, Harry unwound the decoration. Sisith subtly slipped out and slithered down the drain, blocked from Myrtle's sight by Harry's body.

"Where would you like me to hang these up?" the young wizard asked.

Myrtle gaped at him, her jaw ajar. "Tinsel?" she queried stupidly.

"And a few holly berries," Harry agreed, still smiling serenely. "And I suppose I could go get some pine boughs, if you wanted."

She stared, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "For me?" she whispered.

Harry nodded.

Myrtle beamed, a smile lighting her face for the first time in fifty years. "Then I want pine boughs! And fake snow! And ivy! And-" her eyes narrowed- "mistletoe!"

Harry blanched. Maybe this _hadn't_ been a good plan…

* * *

Hours later, Harry had had enough. "I think it's suppertime," he announced, trying to get the notion through Myrtle's thick head.

She blinked at him. Ghosts didn't eat much. Then she sighed. "Oh."

An unexpected wave of pity engulfed Harry. Curse his blasted conscience…

"I'll try and come back tomorrow," he promised, trying not to sound too reluctant.

Myrtle's face lit up, and for a second, she was almost (but not quite) pretty.

* * *

Fortunately for Harry, his next meeting did not involve a love-struck ghost. "Well?" he asked Sisith quietly.

The serpent laughed. "She's there, all right!"

"The basilisk's a girl?"

Sisith nodded. "Her name is Saysa. She told me she's a thousand years old."

"_Whoa." _

"Yeah," agreed the ecstatic snake. "And she wants to meet you!"

"Yes!" Harry exulted, punching the air. "Yes, yes, yes!" A basilisk, Queen of Serpents, wanted to meet him! "When? Where? And" (he began thinking) "I'm gonna need a way past Myrtle."

"No you don't!" exclaimed Sisith. "She gave me something to put in your bag. Called it a 'Portkey.'"

Harry was already rummaging around, searching for an unfamiliar item. As most of his bag's contents were decorating Myrtle's bathroom, it really wasn't too difficult.

The Portkey was coin-sized but as intricate as a cathedral. It was shaped like a brilliant green ouroboros, the serpent which devours its own tail. The serpent's eyes were small dabs of gold, shot through with tiny black slits. Each of its emerald scales was perfectly carved. The entire pendant was almost alive.

"Wow," Harry murmured, holding the charm up for Sisith to see. It was very likely, he realized, that it had been carved by Slytherin himself. And even if it hadn't, the Serpent Founder had undoubtedly used it.

He shook his head, amazed. "Wow."

"Well," demanded Sisith impatiently, "are you going to use it or what?"

"How?" Harry demanded. "This kind of Portkey needs a password to work." He reached out, picked up the snake.

"The password's hope," Sisith explained. "In Parseltongue."

Harry blinked. "Hope?" he repeated- in Parseltongue.

And suddenly, he was someplace else.

* * *

Excitement. Fear. Anticipation.

Hope.

When the small black snake had entered her Chamber, Saysa had been rather annoyed. Then Sisith had mentioned a young Parselmouth, her heart had paused.

A Parselmouth. Rarest of all talents. The odds of her meeting any Parselmouth but the Lighting Speaker were very slim.

So she found Salazar's old ring, gave it to the small snake. She gave him orders to retrieve the Speaker. Perhaps, if she was lucky, they would bring the others. The Prince of Flowers, perhaps, or Truth's Messenger. Maybe even all four.

Saysa had no idea when the Chosen One and his companion (companions?) would return, but she could wait. She had already waited a thousand years.

* * *

Ugh. This chapter took so long, and it just feels so clumsy, too. I'm probably out of practice, after slacking for so long. Sorry, guys.

I have a really random thought. If you've read Death Gate Cycle, have you ever noticed the similarities between dementors and dragon-snakes? I mean, they're both evil, both feed off despair and gloom, both pretend to serve the authority figures but really follow their own nefarious schemes. Just a random thought.

R'n'r, folks.

-Antares


	16. Christmas at Hogwarts

Hey everybody!

Glad to see you haven't all abandoned me after my long wait. Now to my wonderful reviewers:

Lots of people have figured out that Neville is the Prince of Flowers. Good. I meant that to be obvious. The others are a bit less so, but I'm sure that if you think about it, you can figure it out.

Smoochynose, congratulations on figuring out part of Mark's wand! Just like Platform 9 ¾ is something ordinary hiding something extraordinary, Mark is something supposedly extraordinary hiding something ordinary. This chapter's dedicated to you!

Snape fans, everyone knows that Snape is really difficult to write because he's so ambiguous. I'm going to try and balance his love for Lily with his hate for James, and I will explain the Imperious thing later. If it's not explained in a Snape's POV thing by the end of this book, feel free to flame me and steal all my internet cookies.

* * *

_Listen, Saysa: When the Speaker comes- if he ever does- DON'T tell him anything until the Trials are over. The Trials have to be taken spontaneously, without any outside influence. Tell him about the Trials, about his destiny, and you've essentially rigged the test. _

_-_Introduction_, The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

* * *

"Close your eyes, child, so I can look at you," commanded Saysa.

"They're shut," answered the Speaker. His voice was surprisingly young, but steady and unafraid and awed.

Saysa opened her own golden orbs and looked with disappointment on the one she'd waited so long for. She didn't know much about humans, but this one seemed very young, very small. He was skinny, with a wild head of dark hair, weak-looking shoulders, and a bizarre metal contraption perched on his nose. All in all, the potential Lightning Speaker cut a rather unimpressive figure.

The basilisk suppressed a sigh. She'd actually been hoping for someone like flaming-haired Godric, a brilliant duelist and strategist. But someone more physically dissimilar to Gryffindor could not be imagined. Perhaps, Saysa hoped, this wasn't the Chosen One. Maybe a brother…?

Then she saw his forehead.

This time, Saysa could not stop her gasp. The boy jerked up, almost opened his eyes, but thankfully squeezed them shut at the last second. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing, child," she replied, trying to sound calm. "You just have a very unusual scar, that's all."

"I got it as a baby," he answered. "There's actually a really weird story about that…" His voice trailed off hopefully.

Saysa recognized the invitation to conversation. "Go on," she ordered, wondering how in the worlds a baby had ended up with such a nasty scar.

So the boy, Harry, began to tell the ancient basilisk about his parents' deaths, about the curse cast on his brother. He told her how the curse had rebounded upon its caster, ripping "Lord" Voldemort from his body.

During his story, Saysa called on her own innate magic. She'd never been able to explain just how the magic worked, not even to herself. When she used this magic, she could see? - hear, taste, touch, smell- things that no one else could. But this sixth sense wasn't exactly sight, or hearing, or any other physical sensation. It was more akin to the thoughts she had in that drowsy, somnolent state halfway between dream and reality- but that wasn't it either.

Just as the sense itself wasn't exactly a sense, the colors and tastes and smells around Harry weren't really colors or tastes or smells. They were more like half-forgotten memories, things Harry reminded her of.

If Harry's exterior was unimpressive, his aura was exactly the opposite.

The not-colors flared about him, bright and blazing and brilliant. His "heart-colors," those which showed his personality, glimmered around his head like some fiery halo. Saysa caught the flaming red-gold of determination, smelled and tasted his iron core. The misty blue of compassion, smelling like fresh-baked bread and chamomile, threaded through the golden lights, feeding and being fed. Deep purple. This child would be a charismatic leader. Green-yellow for cunning, and goldenrod for loyalty. The blue of intelligence, tasting like ancient books and parchment, smelling like honeysuckle, woven tightly through his cunning and loyalty. The faint silvery sheen of wisdom- unusual for one so young- sparkled around his scar.

And yet…

There was a… a _wrongness _in that lightning-shaped scar. It was like an old patch had been ripped loose, clumsily sewn back, bare skin visible through its holes. There was something evil in that scar, something suppressed for years that was finally beginning to affect young Harry.

Saysa looked harder at the patch-hole. Its color-smells were tied to Harry's intelligence, but the malignancy took something in return. It… fed… off him.

She could not keep herself from shuddering. Harry's goodness was almost palpable, but this _thing _leached him like some cancerous tumor.

Saysa returned to normal sight and listened attentively to Harry's story.

* * *

"Whoa!" was Mark Potter's first word on Christmas morning.

"Huh?" asked his friend Ron, rolling over in bed.

Mark gawked at the huge pile of presents at the foot of his bed. "Presents!"

"Of course," grumbled Ron, still not happy about being awakened. "What did you expect, turnips?" Then he saw just how huge the pile of presents was. "Whoa!"

The two Gryffindors dove into the pile and began tearing open the paper.

Since most of the people who'd sent presents knew absolutely nothing about Mark, the Boy-Who-Lived received very few personal offerings. That was okay, though.

Piles of quills (which were mostly tossed aside), lengthy letters wishing him a happy Christmas (also tossed aside), twelve Broomstick Servicing Kits, a Nimbus 2000, twenty-seven books about the rise and fall of Voldemort, and, of course, candy. Mountains and mountains of candy- Chocolate Frogs hopping wildly around the dorm, all three flavors of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Sugar Quills, Blood Pops and Cockroach Clusters (those went with the letters and quills), and a year's supply of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron. "Don't forget to open my present and Dean's and Seamus'."

Laughing, Mark grabbed at a Chocolate Frog, which ribbitted pitifully before being eaten. He grinned at Ron with chocolate-covered lips and cheerfully rummaged around for his friends' gifts. He had the vague feeling that he'd forgotten something under the massive heaps of wrapping paper, but that could wait until after his sugary breakfast.

Beneath the anthill of quills lay a single present. It was wrapped in red paper that was covered in dancing Snitches. _To, Mark_, said the gift's tag, _from, your favorite brother,_ _Harry_.

But Mark didn't think about it as he tore open Seamus' present. He was too busy eating candy with Ron.

By Merlin, he loved being the Boy-Who-Lived!

* * *

Harry slept late on Christmas morning. When he finally woke up (eleven! How had he slept in past eleven?), the young Parselmouth stretched luxuriously and lazily rolled over. He remained under his warm, wonderful covers for a few more minutes, then sighed and forced himself out of bed.

After another hour of sluggish preparations, Harry deemed himself presentable enough to go and meet with Mark. The brothers always opened their meager Christmas presents together, and he knew that poor Mark would be chomping at the bit.

His pile of presents was pleasantly surprising. The gifts from Blaise, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne made a steady base, which in turn was covered with smaller packages wrapped in yellow and black. Startled, Harry picked one up and looked at its tag. Apparently, it was _from, Tonks. _

Of course! Harry remembered how he and Blaise had saved the Puffs on Halloween night. Helga's House was famous for its loyalty.

It was a bit more difficult to move the presents than he'd expected, but Harry eventually managed. Smiling cheerfully, he walked over to Gryffindor tower.

"Ma-ark!" he yelled, ignoring the Fat Lady's glare. "Oh Ma-a-a-ark!"

An irate-looking redhead stuck his head out the portrait hole. "Yes?" he asked primly.

"Er- I'm looking for my brother," Harry said, wondering if this was one of Ron's three million siblings. "He's a first year in your House…?" No response. "Mark Potter?"

The redhead actually sniffed. "He and Ronald are in the hospital wing."

Poor Harry nearly had a heart attack.

* * *

"Will you quit laughing?" snapped Mark.

"Sorry," his brother replied, "but you got sick from eating too much candy?"

"It's NOT funny," snarled Ron.

"Sorry," Harry repeated.

"Think Snape'll let me off detention tonight?" asked Mark miserably. He seemed to take condolence in that thought.

"Course not," snapped Ron. "He's a Slytherin, remember?" The redhead glared at Harry as he said this.

The Parselmouth blinked. Ron had never pretended to be very fond of him, but he hadn't mentioned this Slytherin prejudice before.

Mark glared at his friend. "Ron," he said warningly.

Harry understood. His brother had known about Ron's opinions and asked the older boy to keep them to himself. The young wizard was touched.

"Well," he said, "you haven't opened all your presents, right? We can still open some together…"

Mark's eyes widened. "Your present! It's still in the dorm!"

Harry's heart sank. Slytherins couldn't go into the Gryffindor dorms.

And Mark had forgotten.

Their conversation was noticeably more strained after that.

* * *

The rest of Christmas break was far less pleasant. Harry forced himself into a somewhat productive state and began working on his homework, usually when Mark and Ron played one of their endless games. Shouldn't they be bored with wizard's chess by now? He strongly suspected that Ron kept playing just because he didn't want to do his homework.

After his outburst in the hospital wing, the redhead became much colder to Harry. They'd never been close to begin with, but now Ron made it clear that he only tolerated Harry because he was Mark's brother.

Partly because of Ron's coldness, Harry began spending more and more time with Saysa and Sisith. The ancient basilisk was absolutely fascinating, a veritable repository of forgotten knowledge. Harry couldn't wait to introduce her to Hermione and watch the sparks fly.

On second thought, he would probably have to translate for them. That was kind of a scary thought. Maybe the introductions could wait…

Sisith, too, was thrilled with meeting her. He quickly moved out from the Slytherin dorms and into the Chamber of Secrets. Sisith had been lonely for other serpents, most of which were hibernating at this time of year. He himself was often tempted to join them, but discovering Saysa had done away with that impulse.

He and Harry liked nothing more than going down to the Chamber and listening to Saysa's stories. Contrary to popular belief, she had been intimately acquainted with all four Founders, not just Salazar. Why, she had been so close to Ravenclaw that the two had ganged up and made Slytherin teach her Parseltongue! (Harry, thinking of Hermione, filed that information away for later.) The trio spent many happy hours howling over the foursome's mishaps.

However, not all of her stories were funny. On New Year's Day, their conversation somehow turned to the prejudices of Slytherin House against Muggle-borns.

"_Salazar's _pupils hate Muggle-borns?" Saysa exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yeah," Harry grumbled. "Most purebloods have this idiotic idea that you're worthless without a pedigree, and they claim that Salazar began that belief."

"That's absurd!" cried the basilisk. "Why, Salazar was Muggle-born himself!"

Three seconds of silence. Then, "_What!" _from both serpent and student.

It was clear that Saysa was expected to explain. "Salazar," she began, "was born in a small village in Norfolk, a few days' walk from Londinium. There was just one other wizard in his town, to whom Salazar naturally apprenticed himself. They lived happily together for fifteen years as my master grew more versed in the magic arts.

"But all good things fade with time. The villagers had long been suspicious of Salazar and his friend. One day, a townsman came across Salazar as he practiced his wizardly arts. He ran home and roused the townsfolk. They killed Salazar's master, then went for the apprentice." Her voice grew soft, sad. "His own parents led the mob."

Harry and Sisith gasped in horror.

"Salazar was occasionally gifted with prophecy, and he knew instantly that his mentor was dead. He escaped the mob of villager and fled north, beyond Hadrian's Wall, where the native tribes still reigned and magic was tolerated, if not exactly adored. 'Twas here that he met the others and founded a school."

"But," Harry muttered, confused, "all the history books say that he fought _against _Muggle-borns. That's why my Housemates use him to justify their own hatreds."

"He did," Saysa admitted. "For many years he was firmly against letting another Muggle-born set foot on the Hogwarts grounds. He did not want them to suffer as he had. Better to remain happy and ignorant, he claimed, than trained and hounded by your own kin."

"That doesn't make any sense," complained Sisith. "He was… hunted… because he stayed behind. If he'd been at Hogwarts, the villager wouldn't have caught him using magic."

Saysa nodded. "So we told him. But the pain of his memories blinded him to reason."

There really wasn't anything Harry or Sisith could say to that.

* * *

"It's good to be back," muttered Blaise cheerfully. He dug into his baked beans with cheerful abandon.

"What's gotten into you?" asked Harry, amused.

Blaise's answering grin was positively wicked. "You will see." His eyes flickered towards the High Table.

Harry understood. "Snape's not there yet, y'know," he said casually.

"You're no fun, Harry, you know that?"

"Hey, it's fun to be no fun."

Daphne rolled her eyes.

The owls flew in, cheerfully delivering letters to their masters. Blaise groaned. "Where is he?" he moaned

As if on cue, the doors burst open. Severus Snape stood silhouetted in their frame.

Blaise suppressed the wild desire to cheer.

For a few seconds, the entire Hall froze. They all had the strangest feeling that something interesting was about to happen, but had no idea what.

Then the owls attacked. Hooting and screeching, they jumped from the tables and charged towards Snape.

A comical expression of horror crossed the Potions Master's face. Many students suddenly regretted not bringing a camera to breakfast.

Snape turned heel and ran. The owls followed.

The Great Hall erupted in laughter.

"What did you _do?" _Harry exclaimed.

Blaise wore a smug expression. "I put a love potion in their food," he explained cheerfully. "The longest-lasting one I could find. Our dear professor will be fighting off his fans for weeks."

Time passed, as it was wont to do. The owls stopped stalking Snape (though that might be because of the antidotes he forced through their beaks). Assignments piled up, and Harry's Better than Binns line flourished as the teachers began handing out more tests.

January flew by, and February passed in an eye blink. Snape continued to be his usual nasty self, handing out detentions if Mark so much as breathed wrong. Professor Quirrell became weaker, thinner, almost gaunt. Before Harry knew it, March had arrived.

In later years, Harry and his friends would have only two clear memories of that time. The first was of Blaise's long-anticipated prank.

The second was of Hagrid's pet dragon.

* * *

This felt really rushed. Sorry about that.

I've been told that this is getting wordy, so I tried to cram the remainder of break, January, February, and most of March into just one chapter. Besides, nothing really interesting happens until Hagrid hatches Norbert(a).

A few explanations:

In his introduction, Slytherin appears to use modern English. That's just my translation. In the 900s, when he was alive, they spoke Old English, and I really don't think that anyone actually speaks that anymore, so I just translated to modern English.

Saysa has never seen glasses before. That's why she was confused about the "bizarre metal contraption" on Harry's face.

Her sixth sense isn't supposed to make sense, just like you can't explain music to someone born deaf or colors to someone born blind. We don't have it; we're incapable of understanding it. The important thing isn't what Saysa senses, it's what the not-colors MEAN.

Harry could figure out what Mark asked Ron because he knows his brother so well.

I think that's it. Thank you again for being so patient with me, and a triply special thanks to all my reviewers!

-Antares


	17. Hagrid's New Best Friend

I'm back! Sorry for taking so long, but you wouldn't believe how busy I've been lately. I'm sorry (again). I don't know how often I can update now that school's started again, but I'll sure try. Just be patient with me. Please?

Parseltongue: **"I am speaking in Parseltongue."**

On a more pleasant note, I'm proud to present my new beta, (drumroll) Tetsurga! This chapter's dedicated to you! Start cheering, folks!

_Thank you, thank you, you're all too kind. Thank you, Antares for the opportunity and without further ado: Ladies and Gentlemen enjoy the chapter! - Tetsurga_

* * *

_Gift of the blood _

_Will give him his life. _

_Gift of the enemy _

_Will give him his wings. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

"He did _what!" _yelled Harry.

Hermione nodded miserably. "Yes," she confessed. "He's trying to hatch a dragon egg in his hut. His _wooden _hut."

Harry gawked at her, unsure if Hagrid was merely stupid, mad but innocent, or a psychotic maniac bent on killing them all. He eventually decided on the second option. "I don't believe it. What kind of an idiot raises a giant, murdering reptile in a school?"

"I know," his friend moaned.

"Well," sighed Harry, "there's only one thing we _can _do. We have to get rid of it."

"No!"

Harry resumed gawking. "Why not?" he demanded.

"We can't take Norbert away from Hagrid," she explained. "He'd be heartbroken."

"_Norbert_?"

She blushed. "He's already picked out the name. It's a bit like watching an expectant father, actually."

Harry whimpered, hiding his head in his hands. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I know," Hermione agreed.

"If we can't get rid of it, then what the bloody-"

"Language, Harry!"

"What in Merlin's name are we supposed to do with it?" he exclaimed.

"I was hoping you'd know," Hermione confessed. "I thought we might put it in a cave somewhere in the forest, but I don't want a rampaging dragon anywhere near the school." She shrugged helplessly. "But it has to stay close enough to Hagrid… I... I don't think he's had many friends, and he's never mentioned anything about a pet…"

Harry plopped down on a tree stump. "So we need a place big enough for a dangerous fire-breathing snake, one that's close to school but isola..." His voice trailed off. "I'm a bloody idiot."

Hermione's head jerked up. "What?" she demanded hopefully. "Do you have an idea?"

He grinned at her. "Not exactly _my_ idea," the wizard commented mysteriously, smirking in a way that made Hermione _very _nervous. "But I know a place where we can keep it- but it's occupied."

Horrible images of another dragon rampaging through the streets of Hogsmeade flitted through Hermione's mind. "Not another one?" she begged.

Harry was digging in his pockets for something. "Nope, no more dragons," he declared, and Hermione sighed in relief. "But definitely serpentine. Ah, found it!"

The young Muggle-born stared apprehensively at the object in her friend's hand. It looked like green ring, carved to resemble a snake. Harry slipped it onto his finger and cheerfully grabbed hold of Hermione's hand.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

He smiled. "**Hope.**"

* * *

"Where are we?" yelled Hermione.

She had explored all of Hogwarts by then (except the forbidden third-floor corridor, of course), and this place had a similar architectural structure. However, that was where the similarities ended. This chamber was all carved with snakes, and dominated by a gargantuan statue at its front.

Harry grinned that horrible grin at her. "Chamber of Secrets," he answered with exaggerated casualness.

Hermione froze, horrified.

She had first read the legend of the Chamber in _Hogwarts, a History _two weeks before term started and had thought it utter nonsense. But nonsense or no, she could remember it in meticulous, excruciating detail.

There was a monster in Hogwarts, the book proclaimed, lurking in a Chamber in the bowels of the school. It had been placed there by old Slytherin himself, an evil birthright for his Heir. When the long-awaited Heir of Slytherin arrived, the beast would rise up and purge the school of Muggle-borns.

Muggle-borns like Hermione.

She froze, horrified. "Harry," she whispered, trying desperately not to make too much noise and attract the monster, "we have to get out of here."

"No we don't," he answered- in a normal tone of voice. Hermione nearly had a heart attack. "Saysa- she's the resident basilisk- she wouldn't hurt a fly. Mice, maybe, but only if she's hungry."

"Harry," muttered Hermione, keeping her voice low, "I'm _Muggle-born. _Get me out of here!"

But it was too late. The huge statue was opening. The basilisk would soon be here.

* * *

Remus Lupin smiled.

"What are you so happy about?" snapped one of his co-workers.

"A letter from my godson," Remus replied. He leaned over, picked up the box of imports, and started lugging it to the train. Once on the train, the imports would be shipped to Diagon Alley, where they would be distributed among the alley's many shops. It wasn't very glamorous work, but if a werewolf wanted to keep his house, he either had to accept it or be offered a job outside the "werewolf containment facility" (known amongst residents as CC, short for concentration camp).

"_They _let you get letters?" sneered the wolf.

Remus sighed. It wasn't his fault that the Aurors checked everybody's mail. "I think it's because Harry and I haven't ever conspired through the post."

"Yeah," muttered his co-worker, struggling to lift another box, "you're a good little puppy. They've got you tamed _real _good, haven't they?"

Remus looked back at the other angrily. "He told me- in the letter, you see- that he and his brother are coming to visit for spring break." He forced a smile. "I'll introduce you."

But he did not- could not- deny the other man's words.

* * *

Every cell in Hermione's body screamed at her to run, run, and never come back- but her paralyzed muscles wouldn't respond. She was frozen in horror, unable to move.

But the monstrous basilisk, its deadly eyes shut, slithering out of the statue's mouth like some foul bile, did not seem interested in killing her. It hissed at Harry.

"Saysa," the wizard replied, "this is my friend Hermione. She's the one in Rowena's House."

More hissing. Harry translated. "She's wondering why you're here. She thought I wasn't going to tell anyone about the Chamber until I taught you some Parseltongue."

A sense of surrealism enveloped Hermione. She was in the middle of a legendary chamber dedicated to the eradication of Muggle-borns and the giant thousand-year-old snake wanted to know what she was doing here.

She would like to know that herself.

"Hermione?"

She gulped, sucked in a deep breath. "I…" This could not be happening. It must all be some bizarre dream. "My friend Hagrid, he has a dragon egg. He- he lives in a wooden house, and dragon breeding is illegal, but he's always wanted a pet dragon and so we can't get rid of it. He'd be heartbroken. But he can't put keep it, either, because then he'd get in so much trouble, so we- Harry and I- have to find a place to put it where it can't hurt anyone."

Hisses. "Saysa wants to know if Hagrid will come into the Chamber. She's a bit possessive about her space."

Hermione imagined Hagrid's reaction to a giant basilisk living under the school and nearly fainted. She shook her head.

"Hermione says no," Harry announced.

The basilisk remained silent for a few minutes, then hissed something at Harry. He grinned. "She says that the dragon can stay as long as Hagrid doesn't know about the Chamber."

For a second, Hermione's natural curiosity overwhelmed her sense of impending doom. "Why not?"

A few hisses later, Harry translated, "She doesn't know if Hagrid knows Occlumency. If a Legilimens read his mind, there'd be an angry mob down here in no time."

For some reason, the thought of a giant snake being attacked by a mob of angry villagers struck Hermione as immensely funny. A giggle escaped her lips. She tried to stop it, but soon the giggle was louder, longer, evolving into a full-out, albeit slightly hysterical, belly laugh.

Another hiss. "Hermione?" queried Harry's nervous voice. "Saysa and I both want to know why you're laughing like that."

Hermione just laughed harder.

* * *

It took the two young wizards four very long days to convince Hagrid that no, he could _not _keep a dragon in his wooden house. It wouldn't fit, someone would see it and call the Ministry, it would sneeze and burn his house down (Hermione's contribution)- the dragon just plain COULD NOT stay.

Hagrid, of course was miserable. He had apparently wanted a pet dragon his entire life, as they were such "sweet, misunnerstood creatures." It was very hard to remain firm when he looked at them with his big, sad puppy dog eyes, but Harry and Hermione somehow persisted. Not easily, but they persisted.

Hagrid apparently knew of a cave somewhere in the Forbidden Forest that he could visit once a day. He began making long trips out there, preparing it for the arrival of his baby.

It was either heartbreaking or creepy. Probably both.

Very soon –not soon enough, in Hermione's opinion- the egg was ready to hatch. Harry and Hermione spent most of their afternoons in the groundkeeper's hut, trying to ignore the stifling heat and the fact that Hagrid was knitting _baby booties_, of all things, waiting for the blasted dragon to hatch so they could get on with their lives.

Fortunately, dragon's eggs have a short period of incubation. Within just four more days, it hatched.

The first sign was a tiny, almost unnoticeable scritch-scratch. Hagrid's head jerked up. His knitting fell from his hands. "It's hatchin'!"

His excitement was contagious. The three wizards gathered around his firepit and watched in fascination as a tiny hole appeared… and another… a crack down the side…

The egg shattered, revealing the tiny crumpled beast within. The dragonet was small and dark, almost as black as Sisith, with a tiny bronze egg tooth on the top of its head. The beast was covered in unidentifiable fluids from its egg, giving it a slightly slimy appearance. It was really a disappointing sight- at least to Harry and Hermione.

"Ain't he beautiful!" exclaimed Hagrid, beaming at the tiny, sodden mass in his fireplace.

The students nodded wordlessly. There wasn't really much to say.

"Come to Mummy," the huge man wheedled, still staring adoringly at the small dragon. It stalked out of the fireplace, hissing and spitting in a serpent's equivalent of baby talk.

Maybe, Harry thought, we should leave. He actually began turning to the door when Hagrid's voice boomed out, "An' yer Aunt Hermione an' Uncle Harry!"

"Aunt" Hermione made a small, incredulous noise. "Aunt Hermione…?"

"Er… right," said Harry helplessly.

Hagrid sniffled. "Oh, Norbert," he moaned, "I wish I didn' have ter give yeh up. But," and his eyes filled with tears, "I know I've gotta."

Harry shuffled guiltily. "It won't be that bad," he said quickly. "…Norbert… will have plenty of space to run around in. I'm sure he'll be very happy."

Hagrid gently placed his dragon on the floor, took out a handkerchief the size of a shawl, and began to blow.

* * *

Harry and Hermione might have persuaded Hagrid to let Norbert go, but not even they could convince him to abandon a _baby. _No, Hagrid insisted on letting Norbert grow up a little first. After all, he reasoned, babies were very helpless. They needed the help of their mummies, at least until they (here his eyes became misty) "lef' the nest."

Dragons, it turned out, grew very quickly. Even Harry, who was accustomed to baby snakes, was shocked at how quickly it matured. By the end of March, Norbert was five feet from tip to tail. Everyone knew that Hagrid couldn't keep him any longer.

Needless to say, the poor man was miserable.

On Friday night, Harry cloaked himself in his best Disillusionment Charm and crept silently out of his dorm. He kept his body pressed against the walls, in the shadows, his senses alert for any sign of Filch.

When he arrived at Hagrid's home, Hermione answered the door. Her eyes were wide and horrified- probably from breaking all these rules. "Harry?" she whispered, squinting at his blurry outline.

Harry mumbled the counterspell. "Yeah, I'm here."

Hermione relaxed. "We're breaking so many rules," she moaned. "We'll be in so much trouble. I can't _believe_ I'm doing this…"

"Try not to think about it," Harry advised.

Her glare could have frozen a thousand stars.

Harry blanched, looked away. "Or we could just get this over with as quickly as possible."

Hagrid walked out, his eyes red and swollen with tears. In one hand he held a leather leash (which really wouldn't do much if Norbert decided to escape). In the other, he held… a teddy bear?

Harry decided not to comment.

They didn't speak as they led Norbert out. No words were necessary. Harry focused on remembering the path. Turn right by the gigantic elm, walk forward one, two… seven hundred thirty- eight steps. Another right by the little grove of hawthorns, forward to the northeast….

His feet began to ache. Hermione began slowing down, her face exhausted. Only Hagrid maintained his former pace. Even the dragon was tired!

Finally, the foursome reached a large cave. It was like someone had made a gigantic surgical incision in the hill and forgotten to stitch it back up again. They walked inside.

The cave was surprisingly cozy- mostly because of all the wool rugs Hagrid had scattered over the floors. That explained all the knitting he'd done lately.

"Er… I'm sure that Norbert will be very happy here," he said lamely. Hagrid really scared him sometimes.

Hagrid nodded, snuffling. Hermione touched Harry's arm. "I think," she muttered, "that Hagrid and Norbert want some time alone."

"Oh. Er- right."

"Hagrid?" called Hermione. "Harry and I are going out for a while."

"Actually," Harry lied, "we're going to start home."

The groundkeeper, immersed in his misery, just nodded vaguely.

"What was that for?" demanded Hermione as soon as they were out.

"It's simple," Harry explained. "We stay here until Hagrid leaves, go inside, get Norbert, drop him off in the Chamber, and go home through Myrtle's bathroom."

Even in the dim light of evening, Harry could see Hermione blanch. "The Chamber of Secrets? With… the basilisk?"

"Yes," he answered, confused. Why wouldn't Hermione like Saysa?

"I'm Muggle-born!" she hissed at him.

Muggle-born. Chamber. Slytherin.

Oops.

"Saysa doesn't care about your heritage," he quickly reassured her. "I swear. And she's not under any orders from Slytherin to kill you- she told me this amazing story about him…" He quickly repeated the story of Slytherin's childhood, how he had been driven from his home by his own parents.

Hermione listened with an open mouth. "Why didn't you tell everyone about that?" she demanded. "If the other Slytherins knew that Salazar was Muggle-born-"

"They wouldn't believe me, because my only source of information is a thousand-year-old snake who isn't supposed to exist."

"Oh," she sighed. "They wouldn't, would they?"

"No," he replied sadly. "They wouldn't."

A large shape moved sadly out of the cave. Hagrid had finally finished saying good-bye to Norbert. Harry held his breath, counted the seconds.

One hundred fifty… one hundred fifty-one…

"Stay still, human boy," a voice ordered quietly. Something hard and sharp pressed against Harry's back. "Or die."

* * *

Centaurs!

Or, more accurately, just one centaur. It was a young red stallion, pale and shining in the starlight. It- he- held a bow, pointed a nocked arrow at Harry's heart.

"What," the stallion demanded, "are two human foals doing in our woods?"

Harry thought as quickly as he could. Centaurs- what did he know about centaurs? Only that they were very proud, very wise, and very suspicious of humans. Saysa claimed that the two races' relationship had been good, once, but that it had deteriorated after the Founders' deaths.

His breath caught in his throat. Centaurs were fierce, proud. He knew that such cultures usually had long memories, of friends as well as foes.

"We've come as emissaries of Saysa, the Queen of Serpents." Please work….

Hermione stared at him as though he were mad. The centaur, however, relaxed. Then he drew in a startled breath. "And why, children, has she chosen you? The Guardian is reclusive."

The Guardian? Harry almost asked, but managed to stop himself in time. "Because I am a Parselmouth," he answered quickly.

The centaur fixed him with a searching gaze. "I am Ronan. What does the basilisk desire to know?"

Surprisingly, it was Hermione who answered. "The Queen of Serpents wishes to know what the stars have told you."

Apparently this was an acceptable answer. Ronan considered for a long, long moment. "Tell her," he began, "that the Serpent ascends, but a lion stalks nearby. Tell her that the moon shines on Lupus and the Dog-Star is near the horizon. Clouds shroud Gemini. Antares grows dim. Libra and Hydra struggle in the southern skies."

His eyes bored into the two children, dark and ominous. "And above all… Mars is very, very bright."

* * *

"**What's wrong, children?"** asked Saysa, looking up from the young dragon.

Harry didn't bother translating. "**We ran into a centaur tonight.**"

Saysa grimaced. "**Did he try and kill her?**" She glanced nervously at Norbert.

Harry jerked up, almost opened his eyes. "**Norbert's a girl?**"

"**Of course. Did they?**"

"**Er, no. But he said a bunch of things… about Mars being bright and the Dog-Star and the moon."**

Saysa's golden eyes narrowed. "**Tell me exactly what he said."**

"Hermione, do you remember what the centaur said?"

She nodded, still uncomfortable with the basilisk's presence, and dutifully repeated Ronan's exact words.

"**Oh," **Saysa murmured.

Hermione screwed up her courage with a visible effort. "Er… Miss Saysa… why does Norbert behave so well around you?"

"**It's her ancestral memories. All dragons, and a few other magical serpents, have them."**

"Norbert's a girl!"

"That's what Saysa says," Harry replied, but his mind was on another part of the basilisk's explanation. Ancestral memories.

The Sorting Hat's gift… could it be some ancestral memory, left behind by another Potter in Slytherin House? He was a Parselmouth, not a magical serpent, but it would fit. The visions, the strange, perpetual sense of déjà vu… the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The Hat hadn't really given him anything, it had just awakened what was already there!

Ancestral memories. The legacy of the Potter line. A grandfather.

_What's your name, Grandfather?_ he wondered, gently probing the memories. _Who are you?_

And in a flash, the name came to him.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

* * *

Isn't Harry just adorable in his little bubble of naivety? I almost regret that I'll one day pop that bubble and reveal the truth about his "grandfather." Oh well. It needs to be done- but not now.

Again, I'm sorry about making you wait so long. I'll really try to be better this time!

-Antares


	18. Like the Moon

Back again.

Oceanlover14, I can assure you that no, Harry is NOT accessing ancestral memories. Voldemort is definitely not his grandfather… though that would be kind of funny : ) Oh, well, maybe in another fic… can you image Harry going up and saying, "Heya, Gramps!" to Voldie?

In this chapter, I finally try to explain a bit about Snape. If you can't understand it, the gist is: He realized that Voldemort would lose and switched over to the Light, but now Dumbledore's blackmailing him. And the thing about Imperio means that Snape knows he's owned, and the Imperius serves to remind him of that. Naturally, he hates it.

* * *

_What was lost will be found. _

_The worlds will collide, _

_The moon will shatter, _

_The Hunt complete again._

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

Albus Dumbledore faced his employee with twinkling blue eyes. Everything about him was serene, calm.

Severus Snape wanted to strangle him.

"Forgive me for not understanding," he growled acidly, barely keeping his temper in check, "but how, exactly, does letting that woman inside further our goals?"

Dumbledore gave him that maddeningly knowing smile of his. "It's simple, Severus. Rita Skeeter will learn of Mark's plans to spend his holidays with a werewolf and write a story about it. The boy is very image-conscious, and he already dislikes Lupin. Harry, though, has been looking forward to this for months. I imagine that the resulting argument will be quite spectacular."

"I see," replied Severus, privately thinking that it would just be easier to give her an anonymous tip. But he didn't dare speak up to Dumbledore.

Snape grit his teeth, shying away from those sparkling blue eyes. "Is that all, Headmaster?"

"Yes."

The Potions Master nodded, walked away. Why, he wondered, stalking down the stairs, had he ever bothered joining with this man? It had seemed, all those years ago, like the best option: Voldemort was doomed to fall, he knew that from Trelawney's prophecy, and he, Snape, needed to get out. So he joined the Order of the Phoenix, never dreaming that Albus Dumbledore, paragon of light and virtue, would use him like this. Dumbledore had taken him in, accepted his information (though of course, it was never too important; there was still the slight chance that Voldemort would triumph) and made him his pawn.

But Snape hadn't escaped. No, he'd just traded darkness for blinding light, a physical mask for an emotional one, Crucio for Imperio.

But he didn't complain, even when free from the Imperious Curse. At least not out loud.

For under Imperio or not, Dumbledore _owned_ him.

* * *

It was raining.

Rain, cold and gray and relentless. Rain like tears, like washed-out drops of blood.

Remus grimaced, huddled closer to the wall. Why, he wondered miserably, didn't the drop-off point have any shelter? It was Britain, for crying out loud!

He shot a quick, angry glance at the Aurors flanking him. _They _had umbrellas, but no, he was a _dangerous werewolf_ and wasn't allowed to even hold one of the bloody things. What did they think he'd do with an umbrella?

Remus was very grumpy when he got wet.

_Well_, he mused, trying (and failing) to look on the bright side, _at least the train's here_. He watched the Hogwarts students erupt out from their great red train, searched hopefully for Harry and Mark.

Remus' keen ears caught the sound of footsteps. Someone was trying to sneak up behind him. Smiling, he turned around. "Hello, Har-"

The wolf reared in his chest, stared out through his eyes. Remus was shoved into a small corner in the back of his mind, helpless and horrified as the monster stood there in his flesh. Terrified, the human wrested back control, and for just a second, their minds touched.

_Longing. _

"Remus!" Harry's voice cut through his haze. "Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," the werewolf lied, his heart beating furiously. "Just coming down with a cold." He shuddered at the thought of losing control in front of Harry. What was going on?

The first time he'd met James's son, Remus had managed to convince himself that he'd imagined the wolf's reaction. After all, the beast was trapped and bound by the cycles of the moon; it couldn't get out during the day. It was impossible, just like changing without the moon was impossible.

Once was just a fluke. But twice…. He needed help. And quickly.

"So," he began, trying to change the subject, "where's your brother?" Definitely not with Harry, unless he'd been turned into a snowy owl by mistake.

At the mention of Mark, the Slytherin scowled. "The _git _saw an article in the paper about how the 'Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived' is betraying the wizarding world and 'consorting with dangerous monsters.'" His voice oozed contempt. "So of course, he just _had _to stay behind and protect his precious image."

"Oh," muttered his godfather.

The Aurors stalked over. "Ready to go, wolf?" Number One sneered.

"He has a name, you know," growled Harry, sounding positively wolfish himself.

Remus put a placating hand on his godson's shoulder. "We're ready," he answered.

The Auror nodded. His compatriot turned to Harry. "Ever do a Side-Along Apparition before, kid?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and dutifully listened to the elder wizard's explanation. He grabbed the Auror's arm and vanished in a soft 'pop.' The second Auror seized Remus roughly and spun around. The werewolf, disoriented, shook himself.

He caught sight of Harry.

The young wizard's face was pale and drawn with fury, his eyes blazing like green lightning as he stared at the CC.

The werewolf containment facility was surrounded by a thick hedge of evil-looking barbed wire, held in place by enchanted, and high, spear-like guard towers. Beyond the wickedly sharp fence he could just barely make out the silhouettes of grey, dilapidated hovels.

"Harry," muttered Remus, gently touching his arm. The boy stiffened, sent a filthy glare in the Aurors' direction, and nodded.

The town's inside was no better. The streets were nothing but muddy ruts, many of the buildings were discolored with mold, and dozens of windows were boarded shut. Once in a while, as if to mock the contrast, a Ministry building popped up- a lodging hall for the Auror guards, the overpriced company store, the loading area in the train station. By the time Harry and Remus reached the werewolf's anonymous home (the Aurors had abandoned them at the gates), the boy was white with rage. "How can they do this?" he snarled.

Remus sighed. "The majority doesn't want werewolves running around, so the government rounds us all up- only to discover that no one wants to pay taxes for housing werewolves, either. So we're all shipped up here to unload imports from the mainland and get them onto the British railway system. It's our 'contribution to society.'" He glanced around the shabby interior of his house. "Here's the guest room." It was really a hastily renovated parlor, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"Well, Hedwig," Harry muttered, smiling at his owl, "this is our home for the next few days." She hooted her disapproval. "Yeah, I know, but it's not Remus' fault." The bird shot her master a doubtful look. "It's _not._"

The werewolf chuckled. "Would you like help unpacking?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine." They chatted idly for a few more minutes, complaining about the weather, abusing Ministry authority, and generally making small talk, before Remus muttered an excuse about getting dinner at the store. Harry nodded absently, more focused on his unpacking than his guardian's whereabouts.

He left the house, locked the door, and ran straight to Tyr's.

* * *

The door slammed shut. Harry grinned. One hand dug into his pocket, easily locating the hard surface it was searching for. **"Hope,"** he murmured.

The Chamber of Secrets was just like he had left it. **"Sisith! Saysa!" **he called, eyes squeezed shut. A rumble announced the basilisk's arrival.

"**How's the vacation?" **asked Sisith.

"**Horrible!"**

"**What?" **asked Saysa. **"Why?" **

"**It's that stupid government. They've locked all the werewolves in a dump." **He quickly described what little he'd seen.

"**Stupid humans," **muttered an unfamiliar voice. Harry, stunned, turned to Norbert (er, Norberta), who had crept up behind him. The young dragon stared at him suspiciously. **"Why would they hurt werewolves?"**

"**Norberta is learning to talk," **declared Saysa, every inch the proud mother.

Harry looked over at the uncharacteristically amicable dragon. **"Wizards don't like werewolves,"** he explained. **"It's stupid, but so are a lot of other things." **

Norberta snorted contemptuously. **"Stupid humans, hurting your protectors," **she repeated.

"**Protectors?"** Harry and Sisith repeated. Norberta simply curled into a ball, apparently trying to go back to sleep.

Saysa's voice had a warning tone. **"Norberta, tell them what you mean by protectors." **

"**Protectors. Guardians." **She seemed to consider. **"But that was long ago."**

_Ancestral memories,_ thought Harry in awe. Just like his. **"What did they protect against? And how?"**

"**Can't remember," **grumbled the dragon, curling even more tightly. **"Lemme sleep." **

"**But-" **

"**Lemme SLEEP!" **

Not wanting to argue with a grumpy dragonet, Harry turned helplessly to the other two denizens of the Chamber. **"I'll ask her about it,"** promised Sisith. He sighed. **"And you'd probably start getting back, too." **

Harry groaned heavily, but he knew the snake was right. The serpent ring was in his hands in a flash. **"Take me back," **Harry ordered it, and the magic swept him away.

* * *

Remus stared unhappily at the quickly cooking ramen. Much as it shamed him, he was almost afraid to see Harry again- to feel the horrible beast rise up and rage in its bonds.

Which is why he'd brought Tyr home with him. If anyone could help him retain control, it was the tough old alpha.

Tyr looked incongruous, seated comfortably at Remus' table, one hand clasping a mug of tea. But his eyes were cold and hard. "_I've never heard of anything like that, Remus. The wolf can't get out without the moon."_

"_So what's happening now?" _

"…_I don't know. Maybe it's his resemblance to James, your anger over his death manifesting itself. Maybe he's just powerful. _

"_Either way, __I'd like to meet this boy." _

It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but Remus couldn't help but doubt. Tyr's explanations sounded reasonable, but there was a tiny nagging feeling in the back of his head….

"C'mon out, Harry!" he called.

His godson obeyed, a faint smile on his face. Remus steeled himself for the wolf's reaction, was surprised to feel no malice in his bestial counterpart. The creature was still… longing, hopeful.

Then he looked at Tyr.

The elder werewolf's eyes were wide, flecked with the gold of the harvest moon. His knuckles were white with strain.

His own wolf had come out to play.

For a few seconds the tension was palpable. Even Harry, who really had no idea what was going on, could sense it. "Why are you staring at me like that?" he demanded, glaring suspiciously at Tyr.

Fortunately, that seemed to snap the alpha out of it. He shook himself, glanced grimly at Remus. The younger nodded. "Harry… this is my friend, Tyr Ulfhednar. He… he wanted to meet you." And probably regretted it, now that Harry had affected him too.

"Harry Potter," the boy responded politely, shaking Tyr's hand. But he wasn't easily distracted. "So what was with the look? Do I have some kind of reverse-allergy thing going on with werewolves?"

"Nothing," Tyr replied, still shaken.

Harry replied with a flat stare. Their confrontation, fortunately, was headed off by the stink of burning noodles. The ramen had boiled over.

Supper was quick and awkward, the conversation strained. Remus and Tyr were waiting for Harry to leave so they could discuss what had happened. Harry knew perfectly well that they wanted him gone, but couldn't imagine why. His hurt expression bored into Remus.

Right after supper, the reluctant werewolf told Harry to finish unpacking. The boy nodded impassively and left the room. Remus couldn't help but feel that something was wrong with that, but he quickly pushed the unsettling feeling away. He and Tyr had more important things to discuss.

"You're right," the alpha admitted heavily, obviously still shaken, "that kid… he's like the moon, bringing out the wolf."

Remus nodded, shuddered. "I've never come so close to losing control," he confessed.

"I've never come so close to the wolf's mind before. It was… unexpected."

"Of course it was unexpected!" the yonger lycanthrope burst out. "The wolf only comes out at the full moon. How- and why- could Harry wake it in both of us?" He stood up, began to pace. "And he'll probably have the same effect on other werewolves, too. I'd never have let him in here if I thought he was in any danger!"

"That's not what I meant," Tyr said. "The wolf didn't feel hostile, more… curious. Hopeful. Benign."

Remus blinked. "Mine too," he murmured. The shock of its unnatural appearance had blotted out his alter ego's passivity. "What's it mean?"

"I don't know," sighed Tyr. "I don't know at all."

* * *

Harry stood frozen, ear pressed against the kitchen door. He had some kind of effect on werewolves? What in the world-?

For one wild moment, he wondered if it had anything to do with his ancestral memories, but that didn't make any sense.

_Protectors, _he thought, remembering Norberta's enigmatic words. But werewolves- today's werewolves, at least- were (no offense to Remus and Tyr, whom he liked) ravenous, slobbering beasts (at least on the full moon). Slobbering beasts did not make good protectors. Protectors would have to be… benign. Tyr's word.

So… was something about him- though what it might be, he had no idea- helping the werewolves return to their original state?

"Protectors," he whispered to himself, and smiled.

* * *

Remus and Tyr talked long into the night. The eavesdropper remained crouched in his hidden spot, eyes heavy. Many subjects were discussed- speculations, strategies, what they should tell Harry, plans to make him an Animagus for safety- but it seemed like the same subjects were just being rehashed over and over again. Harry was bored. And sleepy… so sleepy…

At half-past one, Remus finally conceded that there was nothing more he and Tyr could do. He reluctantly showed his friend out and meandered back to his room. Then he stopped.

"Harry?"

And it was. The young wizard was curled up into a little ball by the other kitchen door, fast asleep. Ruefully, his godfather realized what he'd forgotten earlier that night: that Harry would inevitably eavesdrop. He shook his head, half annoyed, half relieved. That boy was so like his father…

For a second, he considered waking Harry up, but then he decided against it. After all, Harry would know what was going on and that he had to become an Animagus.

There would be plenty of time in the morning.

* * *

Ah, fluffiness! Gotta love it.

I've mentioned before that the werewolf camp is a very unpleasant place, and it IS! I'm kind of basing it off my own imagination and medieval ghettoes. As for the protectors thing… I'd love to hear your theories (mostly so I can laugh at you all : ) ).

_Allow me to voice the first theory, werewolves were around before wizards learned to harness magic. Therefore, to defend them from magical creatures and beings, humans relied on werewolves to fight and protect them from things like giants and vampires. Once wizards learned to harness magic they could defend themselves from said magical beings and began to look down on werewolves because they believed their methods to be more refined and superior to those of the werewolves.-Tetsurga_

See? Tetsurga already has a theory. Start posting!

Harry needs to become an Animagus because only Animagi are guaranteed safety from werewolves. After all, in Book 3, Sirius was bitten (in dog form, of course) and he didn't get lycanthropy. Come to think of it, has anyone ever heard of a werewolf Animagus?

Again, sorry for the lack of updating.


	19. Meetings on May Day

Ho there. I've got some really good news: this is ALMOST FINISHED! I repeat, almost finished! If my plan goes right, this book will end with chapter 22. Then I'll have finished my first fanfic!

On another note, I have proposal. I have the artistic skills of a turnip, but I'd really love to see a picture of human Saysa. So I came up with an idea: some of my readers who are on an artsy site could make pictures of my story and give me the links in reviews. I give them a chapter dedication in return. They get publicity on ; I get publicity on DeviantArt (or wherever the art is). They get a chapter dedication; I get to see my human Saysa. Does that sound too crazy? If you're interested, just leave a link in a review.

_Doesn't sound too crazy to me. Go for it people! Those of you who like drawing go out and draw Saysa, come one!_

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who contributed a theory on werewolves.

* * *

_From abundance will come emptiness. _

_From void will come life. _

_So it will be, year after year. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

When spring break was over, the eyes of Hogwarts turned onto one person: Harry Potter, rogue brother of the great and famous Boy-Who-Lived. Rumors had been flying about him, mainly speculations on why in the world would anyone voluntarily spend time with werewolves. Most of the rumors involved Harry either being a closet werewolf himself or him teaming up with the pack in a gigantic conspiracy to take over the world. That the great and famous Mark Potter was not speaking to him just added fuel to the fire.

But despite this (which created even more speculation) Harry seemed downright chipper. Several of the more high-strung gossipers ran around proclaiming that Hogwarts would be attacked by slavering lycanthropic monsters before the week was out.

"So what're you so happy about?" Blaise grumbled. He had been awakened at five-thirty in the morning, and lack of sleep tended to make him grouchy. Even worse, his mother had announced yet another engagement. Just thinking about what would happen to the poor sap was enough to make him ill.

"Tell ya later," Harry replied cheerfully.

"Not fair."

"Hey, you kept that owl prank a secret for months. I can keep my secret until Beltane if I want to."

Blank stare. "What's Beltane?" It sounded vaguely familiar.

"May Day. I've got a friend who wants to meet you then. Actually a couple of friends." He smirked. "I think you'll like each other. You and the younger one are equally impossible."

"And you're just gonna leave me hanging until then?"

"Yep."

Blaise's sigh transformed into a long yawn. "Humph. It you flatly _refuse_ to tell _me_, your best mate in the entire world, your big secret, I've got no choice but to change the subject."

"That sounds rather accurate."

"Yeah, I thought it might. How was your break?"

Harry instantly cheered up. "It was brilliant! Remus told me all sorts of stories about my mum and dad and I met some of his friends. They're a strange, distrustful lot, but I think that's because no one ever gives them a chance. Werewolves are more like clams than wolves, I've noticed. You just have to get through their shells."

"I'm allergic to clams."

"Well," chuckled his friend mischievously, "then you'd better hope I'm not one."

Blaise recognized _that_ tone of voice. He perked up instantly. "What's the news?"

Harry dropped his voice, kept his expression light and innocent. "Remus knows how to make the Animagus potion," he murmured.

His friend's jaw dropped. "What?"

His friend nodded. "Uh-huh. He's going to guide me through the process this summer. I just have to smuggle in the ingredients."

"So you _are _conspiring with werewolves. Who says that gossip's always wrong?"

"And I figure, since I'm learning how, I can teach you guys what I've learned when we get back to school."

Blaise grinned. "That's illegal, you know."

"I know, so don't tell anyone."

"Good, I won't. Just wanted to be sure you understand."

* * *

Saysa the basilisk had a different view of time than most other people, probably because she was a thousand years old. Centuries had passed her by with nothing to show but a steady growth.

Her peaceful way of life had been first shattered fifty years ago, when a young Parselmouth had entered her Chamber. She had hoped that he might be the Lightning Speaker, but Tom Riddle had dashed those hopes with just a few words: "I am the Heir of Slytherin, your master. Together we will purge this school of its Mudblood taint."

And he _had_ been the Heir. Saysa was physically incapable of ignoring a direct order from her master's heir (Riddle had NOT been her master, no matter what he thought), but she could still fight him. She had "accidently" Petrified every one of her victims, except for that poor girl in the bathroom.

After that foul boy left, Saysa tried desperately to return to her old lifestyle, but she couldn't. Guilt haunted her, and with it came doubt. Would the Speaker ever come? She'd wrestled with that question for fifty years, increasingly wretched, increasingly miserable, afraid that she'd failed, afraid that the world was doomed.

And then Harry, wonderful Harry, came along. He wasn't exactly what she had expected, but that would change- he was young yet.

With Harry had come Sisith, and later Norberta and Hermione. The basilisk's solitary lifestyle had been turned upside down. Now she had two roommates (though Sisith was planning to move out now that it was warming up), and two regular visitors.

And Harry wanted her to meet two more. Blaise Zabini. Neville Longbottom.

It should have been three. The Speaker of prophecy had _four _main companions, two boys and two girls: the Smoking Mirror, the Prince of Flowers, Truth's Messenger, and the Daughter of Frost. Where was the other girl?

Beltane arrived quickly; it seemed that time was moving more rapidly, as though the nine months had ended and labor had begun. Beltane was there in the blink of an eye.

Norberta gawked as her adoptive "mother" shrunk, sprouted limbs and hair, scales retreating under her skin. Saysa, now human, looked at her with a smile. Their eyes met for the first time. Norberta blinked, tried to recover. "**Why did you do that? I mean, who wants to be human?" **

"**There are certain advantages to this form," **her guardian replied. **"For instance, I can communicate with non-Parselmouths… and you've obviously never had thumbs before." **

"**Why would I want them?" **

Saysa chuckled. **"When you're older, I will teach you how to transform." **

"**Humph. Don't bother. Oh, Harry's here." **

Saysa turned around with a smile. To her surprise, however, the wizard seemed horrified to see her. His expression was appalled, then calculating, then terrified. In his most childish voice, he wailed, "Thank Merlin someone else is here!" He grabbed her hand, tried tugging her away from the mildly interested Norberta. "We've gotta get out of here! Quick, before that dragon eats us!"

"That dragon" burst out laughing. Harry shot her a filthy but surreptitious look. "C'mon, lady, we've-"

"Harry," the basilisk interrupted gently, "it's me. Saysa." She stifled a giggle at his flabbergasted expression. **"It's the magic of Beltane: powerful beings are capable of taking on other forms. I cannot do this again until Midsummer. That is why I wanted to meet your friends today." **

He looked at her suspiciously. "Then how come your eyes haven't killed me yet?"

"The magic of the day, of course." She frowned. "_What_ are they teaching you in that school?" Then she smiled. "Let me see your eyes, Harry." She peered into them, startled at their vibrancy. They reminded her of Salazar's robes, of her own scales.

Unexpectedly, Norberta spoke up. **"She is who she says she is," **the dragonet proclaimed.

Harry gave her a suspicious look, then relaxed. "Good thing I didn't bring them in right away," he muttered. "D'you still want to meet them?" Saysa nodded. "I'll have a lot of trouble explaining you're a basilisk…" He took out Salazar's ring. **"Bring me back." **

Saysa and Norberta waited- one patiently, one not so much. Then Harry came back, three other figures in tow.

Saysa instantly recognized Hermione, with her not-colors of blue and goldenrod, her not-scent of passionate pomegranates and curious catnip. The other two were unfamiliar. One was rather small and unimpressive-looking; the other was tall and carried himself with an easy confidence. She peered at them speculatively, trying to memorize their patterns.

Much of the smaller boy's aura was composed of earth tones, browns and ochers and greens. She could smell green things around him: fresh grass and arborvitae and rich, black soil. This boy had an obvious gift with plants; the Prince of Flowers, without a doubt. Unfortunately, his potential was stifled: his pale purple charisma was layered in filaments of sickly gray and deep, melancholy indigo. Saysa pitied the poor boy. So talented, but so unhappy.

The other boy was rather more encouraging. The sparkling russet of mischief danced around him, coupled with the green of cunning. A blackish tint spoke of ruthlessness. Saysa inhaled, caught the sweet fresh scent of self-knowledge. Around his eyes shone a single band of gold and turquoise intertwined. Her breath caught; did that band mean what she thought it meant? It did fit what the prophecies said about "knowledge of what is to be," but true Seers were rare.

"Neville, Blaise, this is Saysa. She's normally a basilisk, but apparently possesses shape-shifting abilities on certain days. Saysa, these are my friends, Neville Longbottom-" he gestured at the Prince of Flowers "-and Blaise Zabini." The other boy waved jauntily. "And everyone knows Hermione and Sisith."

"Basilisk, huh?" chuckled Blaise. "Yep, I can see the resemblance."

"Very funny, Harry," said Hermione. "Who is this woman, really, and where is Saysa?"

"There's a real basilisk down here!" yelped Neville. He looked wildly around, evidently expecting a monster to rear up out of the shadows and eat him alive.

Saysa sighed slightly, closing her eyes. She willed her natural form to return.

"Whoa," breathed Blaise's voice. Neville made a squeaking sound. Hermione mumbled something about how Saysa couldn't be a basilisk Animagus because when someone called "Professor McGonagall" transformed, her transformation was instantaneous. Saysa's was more gradual. Besides, Animagi couldn't become magical creatures.

"Believe me now?" asked Harry dryly.

More squeaks from Neville and two yeses.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the most collected. She had, after all, met the serpent before. "So… er… Saysa… how?"

"The magic of the day," she explained. "Like the seasons, magic runs in cycles. It peaks on the solstices and two other days, Beltane and Samhain- what you call May Day and Halloween. Some magical creatures- my kind, for instance- are more attuned to these cycles than others."

Hermione's colors sparked a deep indigo. "Why those days?"

Saysa shrugged. "It has something to do with the Fae."

"The Fae?" squeaked Neville, startled from his silence. "They're real?"

Harry, Hermione, and Sisith seemed confused. Blaise seemed intrigued. Norberta, as always, was just indifferent. "The Fae… not even they know what they are. They live in a world adjacent to ours and enter this land through faerie raths and the hollow hills and mushroom rings. They are… strange. They see themselves as superior to us, believe that we are their toys. However, their power in this world has been decreasing for the past thousand years. The raths and hills and rings are blocked off, warded, to prevent their entry. Now they can only enter on the four days of power, though the Winter Queen rarely comes on her own solstice."

Hermione's colors flared in a way that reminded Saysa of Rowena. Oh dear. She feared she'd created a monster…

"If they're in this world tonight," she began, "could we- could I meet them?"

"No!" cried Saysa, horrified. The Ravenclaw jerked back, terror flitting over her face. Neville's hand twitched towards his pocket, probably searching for a wand. "The Fae are dangerous. They see us as nothing but playthings. If you do wish to visit them _safely, _you must send someone- namely me- ahead of you to extract an oath from the reigning queen. Human lore is full of mortals who met the Fae, and few of them did not regret it. Promise me you will not visit them on your own."

"She's right," Neville said quietly. "My gran used to tell me all about how the Fae would steal babies and kidnap humans for years and years, but when the humans came back they'd only aged a day."

Hermione probably would have argued- Saysa recognized that stubborn ocean scent anywhere- but Blaise came to her rescue. "Hang on," he breathed, eyes going wide, "if you're a thousand-year-old snake in the Chamber of Secrets, then you knew _Salazar Slytherin._"

Neville's eyes widened in shock. "And Rowena, and Helga, and Godric," the basilisk acknowledged.

"And this is the time you tell them the story about Slytherin being Muggle-born," Harry announced perkily.

"SLYTHERIN WAS MUGGLE-BORN!"

* * *

"Toldja you'd like my friends," Harry gloated.

"You were right mate," Blaise agreed, grinning. "You have the most interesting friends I've ever met!"

"You're his friend, too, you know," Neville cut in shyly.

Hermione, Harry, and Blaise gaped at him. Neville blushed. Then Blaise grinned ruefully. "You've got a point, Nev."

Harry smiled, pleased to see Neville finally starting out of his shell. Of course, it could just be the shock of meeting a talking humanoid basilisk (and Norberta, but she hadn't really talked much).

"So, who wants to visit her again?" he asked, shifting the attention away from the embarrassed Gryffindor.

"I'd love to!" Hermione had quite overcome her earlier terror of Slytherin's "monster." "How could I not? The things she must know! All four of the Founders, the earliest days of Hogwarts, the-"

"Uh, yeah," Blaise mumbled, nonplussed. "I think that's why she gave us those Portkeys." He took out his own, a brilliant obsidian disc inlaid with golden flames.

Hermione smiled slightly, reaching for her own ivory key. "They are amazing," she murmured. "Four Portkeys… one for each of the Founders… Gryffindor's oak leaf for Neville, Ravenclaw's key, Slytherin's serpent…"

"Which leaves me with Hufflepuff's," muttered Blaise. He sighed. "At least it's cool-looking."

"Told you we'd find them here," said a loud, familiar voice. Harry and his friends looked up and saw Ron Weasley, who was standing next to a boy Harry almost didn't recognize.

Mark had grown taller and gained weight during his tenure at Hogwarts. In fact, he had gone from skinny to almost pudgy. The lines of his face, cast in a perpetual smirk, had hardened and changed. He'd begun putting some kind of gel in his hair, which made it stick up stupidly. Even his posture was different: cocky and self-important.

"Er- excuse me," muttered Harry. It was obvious that Mark wanted to talk to him- the first time since their fight about Remus. Had his brother forgiven him?

"Sure thing," said Blaise. Hermione and Neville nodded, happy.

Harry walked quickly over to his brother, desperately hopeful for a reunion.

Mark was grinning ear to ear, animosity forgotten. "They've been arrested!" he exclaimed jubilantly. "The Dursleys are in Azkaban!"

Harry grinned back. "How long?"

"Life sentences! For Petunia and Vernon, that's about forty or fifty years. For Dudley, it's like, seventy!"

Harry's jaw dropped. _Dudley_ was in there too? Vernon and Petunia he could understand, but his cousin was only eleven.

It really was surprising that he even cared. Young though he was, Dudley was cruel, dishonest, and spiteful. He'd tormented the Potters for ten years and never shown one indication of remorse. But to throw a child in Azkaban… it just seemed wrong.

Harry groaned silently. When had he started caring about Dudley?

Because Dudley had been taught to hate him. Vernon and Petunia had no such excuse, and Harry felt no pity for them, but their son simply didn't know any better. It didn't excuse his actions, of course, but it should grant him a second chance. A chance to learn.

"Isn't it great!" laughed Mark, beaming.

Harry smiled and lied through gritted teeth. "Yeah. Great."

* * *

Saysa stepped into the woods and tried to convince herself that she was not a hypocrite.

She really wasn't. It was perfectly fine for her to go meet with the Fae; after all, she was a thousand-year-old basilisk. The Queen of Serpents could take care of herself. So it was utterly absurd to feel guilty about visiting the Fae, just because she'd told a twelve-year-old girl not to.

The Summer Queen reigned at Beltane, sister and opposite to the mistress of winter. Her skin was tanned from long hours in the golden sun; her hair as brilliant as its beams. Her eyes sparkled with all the vitality of new leaves.

But just as winter brought blizzards, summer brought thunderstorms. The two sisters were equally dangerous.

"My lady," murmured Saysa, fully aware of all the Fae who were watching her.

Eyes greener than Harry's own looked up, met golden orbs. Then they flickered, searched. The Summer Queen frowned. "Where is the Lightning Speaker?"

Murmurs from the court. The few who knew what the Lightning Speaker was frowned in confusion; hadn't their Queens banned all mention of him?

Fortunately, Saysa was prepared. "He rests in Caer Hogwarts, surrounded by mortal magic and cold iron." (Which was, of course, a lie. Hogwarts was stone. Its only iron was in the plumbing.)

The Fae hissed. Iron was anathema to them; deadly and painful. The Summer Queen's eyes darkened.

As it was not a good idea to irritate the Fae, Saysa hurried on. "I will not have the Speaker become your puppet. He will not stand before your thrones unless you give your binding word to release him freely."

The Summer Queen's eyes were cold, calculating. Saysa did not meet those eyes. She knew what would happen if the Summer Queen discovered how afraid she really was.

"I will not swear to this oath," she said icily.

Saysa's heart plummeted. "However," the Queen continued, oblivious to the basilisk's despair, "I will consent to meet him." She smiled, face transformed into sunbeams. "If your Speaker cannot leave the Faerie Courts, he is no better than the other mortals and deserves his fate. If, however, he succeeds…" Her smile grew. "We will discuss that then."

Saysa shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Thank you, Majesty," she murmured. Inside, the serpent's heart was breaking. The Fae let no one leave freely unless they gave their word.

Tall and proud, she glided away from the throne. She would not show weakness. The Fae snickered, not even bothering to hide their derisive laughter.

She kept walking, defeated, away from the warm glade, away from the lights and the dancing.

"Saysa."

The startled basilisk spun around, stunned. "Majesty?" she asked, confused.

The Winter Queen was a shadow of her former self. Her pale coloration made her seem washed out, ghostly and unhealthy in the moonlight. Dark circles marred her face.

"Bring the boy at Samhain," she ordered quietly, quickly. "I will speak with him- freely, without binding him to my world."

For once, Saysa was speechless. "What… _why?" _

"Summer… is a time of warmth, of ease. It is a careless, foolish time. For why work when the fields are full and ripe? Why trouble yourself when food is so abundant, when the nights are warm and the days blissful? But winter… one must prepare to survive its grasp. In winter, carelessness can kill." Her mouth tightened. "My sister does not- cannot- grasp the danger. It is simply not in her nature. I, however, know that survival often means strange bedfellows."

"Survival for who?" whispered the other.

"For me, of course," snapped the Winter Queen.

Of _course _it was just for her. An altruistic Fae was rather like a humble dragon- completely nonexistent.

"Very well, then," Saysa replied. "I shall return on Samhain." She bowed low and walked off into the night.

* * *

Oooo. More Fae!

Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed. If you haven't, review! I'm still taking werewolf theories, and now I've got that art thing going on…

-Antares

_Great, just what we were missing, another group of magically powerful individuals out for themselves first and everyone else second. It's the goblin's second coming but at least the Fae are supposed to be beautiful... I think._

_- Tetsurga_


	20. Flames

Yay! The climax!

* * *

_The thoughts that give the gift, _

_The viper will unmask, _

_Widening the brothers' rift _

_And giving him his task. _

_-The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

"I hate exams," groused Harry.

"As do I," agreed Daphne, uncharacteristically ruffled. Dark circles hung from her eyes, a testament to the all the studying she'd done.

"Really makes you look forward to fifth year, doesn't it?" Blaise observed philosophically.

Harry and Daphne shuddered.

"At least they're over," muttered Harry. Thanks to Tom's memories, he hadn't done as much studying as Blaise and Daphne- his grandfather was a genius- but no eleven-year-old liked exams. They wasted his time, stressed out his brother, and sent his friends (even, oddly, Hermione, who was guaranteed top scores) into hysterics. What was there to like?

"Thank Merlin for that," muttered Daphne passionately.

Sisith chuckled from his place in Harry's pocket. **"The ice queen, showing relief? Should I be afraid?"**

His human friend grinned. "I'm meeting Mark at Hagrid's to celebrate," he said cheerfully. "Want to come?" Ever since spring break, Mark kept bringing his friends along for all their meetings. Harry figured that since Mark was already doing it, he could let Daphne and Blaise tag along.

"No, thank you," replied Daphne, her icy demeanor back in place.

Blaise grimaced. "No thanks, Harry. We both know he doesn't like me."

The Parselmouth nodded. He might be somewhat immune to the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry, but his friends weren't. "See you later then." He turned away from them and began walking, smiling contentedly. Ah, sweet freedom…

"Mister Potter!"

At the sharp voice of Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, Harry jumped. For one wild moment he worried that he'd failed the Transfiguration exam, but that was ridiculous. Transfiguration was his second-best subject. "Er, yes?" he asked nervously.

The Transfiguration teacher bore a look of extreme irritation on her face. "Mr. Potter, I would much appreciate it if you convinced your brother that…" Here she seemed to hesitate, as though searching for the right words to say. "that Professor Snape is _not_ going to steal… an important artifact… from the school?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

McGonagall sighed. "Please explain to your brother that Professor Snape will not be stealing any of Hogwarts' property, tonight or any night at all."

Her student kept staring. "Er… all right." Of course, it would help if he knew what she was talking about… Then the thought struck. "Important artifact." "Hogwarts' property."

The Sorcerer's Stone!

Deciding that the best way to get to the bottom of this would be continuing to Hagrid's, Harry upped his pace. "Hagrid? Hagrid? Are you home?"

The huge man opened the door, a miserable expression on his face. "Hullo Harry," he mumbled gloomily.

"Hello, Hagrid. Is Mark here yet?"

The groundskeeper's face fell. "Here an' gone, Harry. He left."

Harry frowned. "He left without seeing me?" Then, suddenly suspicious, he added, "Did his reason for leaving have anything to do with the Sorcerer's Stone?"

Hagrid's jaw dropped. "Blimey, how'd you know that?"

"McGonagall told me Mark was convinced the Stone would be stolen tonight. Hagrid, what _happened?_"

The elder wizard sighed. "I was tellin' them abou' Hogsmeade, an' somehow we got to talking about the night I won Norbert." Seeing Harry's alarmed look, he quickly added, "Now, I didn't tell 'em about him, of course, just that we- me an' the dragon dealer- got into a conversation." Shame crossed his face. "I… I tol' him abou' Fluffy," he confessed. "An' abou' how to get past him."

Harry's jaw dropped. The pieces were moving into place. A stranger who knew how to get past the Cerberus… a dangerous alchemical artifact….

Dark wizard.

"Anyway, yer brother an' his friends panicked abou' that. They were convinced it were Snape who gave me Norbert's egg- though where Perfessor Snape could get a dragon's egg, I don' know. Then they ran off to find Dumbledore an' warn him 'bout the Stone being in danger."

"I'm sure it's not," Harry lied. "Mark and his friends are probably just overreacting."

Hagrid's face brightened. "Yeh're right, o' course," he muttered, smiling. "Thanks, Harry."

The young Parselmouth smiled. "Now I just have to convince Mark."

* * *

Neville lay languorously on the lawn, head resting against his favorite tree. A serene smile adorned his face. Exams were over! Now he just had to wait until the results were out, and he was home free! He could go home, back to his greenhouses and family and his own room with _no loud obnoxious roommates _and-

"Neville?" asked Harry's voice.

The older boy jerked, eyes flying open. He saw the look on Harry's face and blanched. "Oh, no. I've failed Potions, haven't I? I knew I would! How am I supposed to explain to Gran?"

"You didn't fail Potions, Neville," Harry quickly reassured him. "I've actually just got a favor to ask you."

"Oh," muttered Neville, relieved. "Okay."

The Slytherin sighed. "I think my brother is going to try and break into the forbidden third floor corridor tonight."

"What!"

The other boy grimaced. "Yeah, I know. Anyways, I need you to let me know if Mark and his friends aren't in bed by… say… ten. I know it's early, but everyone in my dorm is planning to catch up on their sleep. Is it the same in Gryffindor?"

The Gryffindor nodded. "How can I signal you?"

"Just send some red sparks out your window."

A thought crossed the other wizard's mind. "Harry, what will you do if Mark does try and break the rules?"

The second boy sighed. "Try and stop him, I guess. I think I'll just intercept them and threaten them with Filch." In other words, he was still trying to figure that out. Improvisation was a good thing.

* * *

"**This is boring,"** Sisith whined.

Harry grit his teeth. **"I **_**know**_** that," **he snapped. **"And I've already told you, you don't have to be here." **

"**I **_**know **_**that," **Sisith replied mockingly. He hesitated. **"You don't have to be here either, Harry." **

"**What's that supposed to mean?" **

Snakes weren't very expressive creatures. Nevertheless, Sisith managed to look uncomfortable. **"I mean that if Mark gets in trouble, it's his own fault. You can't look out for him forever, Harry." **

Hot anger surged through the Parselmouth. **"I don't think you get it," **he snapped. **"If it were just the rules, yeah, I might consider leaving him, but there might be a **_**Dark Wizard **_**in there. I can't just let Mark run off and fight a Dark Wizard by himself!" **

"**Yeah, because two eleven-year-olds have a much better chance," **the snake muttered.

Harry's glare could have made Saysa proud. **"Look,"** Sisith continued, **"if there is a Dark Wizard in there, you don't have a chance. All you can do is die." **

So that was it. Harry's anger melted; Sisith only wanted him safe. **"I know," **he admitted. **"That's why I'm hoping Mark doesn't-" **

"**Look!" **

Harry looked. Red sparks were shooting from Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

"Idiot, death-wishing Mark," muttered Harry, stalking towards the third story corridor. He squeezed the package in his arms as though trying to strangle it. "Serves him right if he gets eaten by that blasted dog…"

"**You might want to be quiet," **Sisith advised. **"You might wake up the portraits." **

Harry scowled.** "They wouldn't know it's me," **he pointed out. **"I mean, we're under a Disillusionment Charm, and we're going to be under one until we find Mark." **But he did keep quiet. Fortunately, the door to the corridor was already unlocked. Harry smiled slightly and unwrapped his package, revealing a red, juicy steak. His other hand grabbed his wand.

"**Where did you get that?" **wondered Sisith.

"**House-elves thought I was too skinny." **

"**I love house-elves." **

Harry grinned, flinging open the door. "Wingardium leviosa!" he whispered intensely.

Fluffy's heads jerked up. He (or she, Harry couldn't tell and did not want to find out) stared at the amazing floating steak. Three noses sniffed the air. The wizard grinned, stepped forward. One of the heads turned towards him, growling. Harry forced himself to ignore its glare. "Come on, doggy," he muttered. "You know you want it… you _know _you want it."

The Cerberus was obviously torn. One head kept staring at the steak. Another, ears pricked, followed the sound of Harry's footsteps. The middle head kept switching back and forth.

Harry grimaced. He didn't dare get any closer to the giant dog. The young wizard nervously levitated his steak until it almost touched Fluffy's middle head. Then, just as the dog was about to devour it, he jerked it back.

The hound moved forward- but not far enough. Apparently, the steak wasn't enticing enough to lure it away. "_Engorgio!_" exclaimed Harry. The steak swelled to a humungous size.

The expression on Fluffy's faces was comical. Cerberus or not, it was still a dog.

The steak didn't stand a chance.

Harry forced himself to ignore the carnage and ran over the trapdoor. He groaned softly, noting that there was no staircase or ladder. _Well, _he reasoned, _Dumbledore needs some way to get down there._ He jumped.

Landing was a painful process, though not as painful as he had anticipated. "_Lumos,_" he muttered, holding up his wand. It appeared that he was in a dank, earthy hole. The cavern was roughly circular in shape. Its floor and most of its walls were packed dirt. One section of wall, about a meter across, was covered in some kind of vegetation.

Harry squinted at it, frowning. The second defense was a plant? After Fluffy, it seemed rather anticlimactic. Then he realized that the harmless-looking vine was really Devil's Snare, an infamous magical death trap.

"_Incendio." _The plant jerked back. Fortunately, though, a few of its vines caught fire. As it tried desperately to smother the flames, Harry charged forward into the next room.

At first glance, it didn't seem like the room offered any obstacles. Its door wasn't even hidden, but stood in plain sight at the end of the corridor. This, of course, only made Harry more wary. He paused to renew his Disillusionment Charm, then proceeded cautiously into the room.

The door flung open. Thinking it was some horrible opponent come to stop him, Harry prepared to start screaming incantations. Then he stopped. It was just Ron, Dean, and Seamus… but not Mark.

"Hold Ron for me, will you?" asked Dean. Harry noted that Ron was unconscious. His heart went cold. What had happened in there?

"Shut the door already!" ordered Seamus. "D'you want that troll to wake up?"

Dean stopped stretching and glared. "That thing'll be out for a good long time," he snapped.

"Just hurry," ordered Seamus, shifting Ron's weight.

Harry's eyes widened. Then, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, he walked through the door. Dean shut it behind him.

The next room _smelled._ Harry ran though it, eyes watering. Sisith dove into his pocket for refuge. Ugh… eau d'troll would never make a popular perfume.

Fortunately, the next room was rather less fragrant. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea what to do with it. The bloody thing looked like a giant game of Gobstones. In fact… it was a giant game of bloody Gobstones!

Harry was not an avid player, but like every young wizard, he knew the rules. He obviously had to play his way across, without getting squirted with the stones' acid.

_He did not have time for this! _Mark could be hurt, even… No. He refused to even think it.

The Parselmouth's mind raced. Curses? No, the stones were probably charmed against it. Floating over? No, he wasn't sure if that was possible.

Sisith glanced out of his pocket. _**"What **_**are those?" **

"**A game," **the human replied miserably. **"A stupid children's game that Dumbledore probably hasn't played in years, so why did he**-**"** No; a better question was _how: _How did Dumbledore defeat this if he hadn't played Gobstones for… er… a really long time?

"_Confundus," _whispered the young mage, forcing all his will into the spell. Then, cautiously, he took a step forward. The stones did nothing. Harry grinned. **"They think I'm Dumbledore!" **

"**Handy spell," **observed Sisith.

Harry idly wondered what would happen if the real Dumbledore came, then decided he couldn't care less. He stepped into the next room- and nearly screamed in frustration. Huge black flames billowed on the other end of the corridor.

Miserable, he looked around the room. Its only distinguishing feature (besides the flames, of course) was a giant map of Britain on the wall. Harry groaned. There was obviously some sort of riddle involving the map…

"**It's not real," **Sisith observed quietly. Harry jumped, having almost forgotten the serpent's presence. **"The flames aren't real." **

His friend glanced nervously at the fire. It looked real to him…

"**Do you want to save him or not?" **

Harry grimaced- and plunged into the flames.

* * *

Saysa the basilisk jerked awake, completely befuddled. She knew that familiar feeling- Harry had just passed a Trial. But why was he doing it so late at night?

She looked up at Salazar's statue. The Trial of Trust… this could only mean trouble.

* * *

"Mark!"

The younger twin was unmoving, so terrifyingly still… Smoke rose off his body in twisted, ephemeral fingers. Harry dashed forward, his Disillusionment evaporating. "Please don't be dead…"

"He is not," breathed a rasping voice. Harry's head jerked up. An abomination met his eyes. It, too, was burnt and blistered, but it could stay on its feet. The face was hideous; a foul combination of man and beast. But what Harry found most horrifying was the location of the monstrous visage: it was on the _wrong side of its head! _

The voice continued, oblivious to Harry's horror. "His magic was not powerful enough to overcome me." The thin lips twisted in a cruel smile. "Do you know, Harry Potter, what was supposed to happen here?" The boy shook his head, mute. "The potion which enabled us to cross those flames was fake. In reality, it transformed the drinker's magic into heat energy. However, it would only activate when two people who had drunk of the potion touched." Harry felt sick. "Had your brother been as powerful as Dumbledore obviously thinks he is, he would have killed my host, and I would have been forced to retreat. But he was not. Do you know why, Harry Potter?"

He shook his head, barely listening. His scar ached. Tom's memories swirled in his head, fuzzy and confusing. He had to remember something… he knew, he didn't know, who this man was….

"Because Mark Potter is not the Boy-Who-Lived."

And Harry knew.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

I AM LORD

"…Voldemort." Sisith hissed softly in his pocket, but knew better than to talk. He remembered that Voldemort was a Parselmouth, too.

Bile rose in Harry's throat. Black spots danced in his eyes. It was so tempting to fall down, to collapse under the crushing weight of the nightmarish revelation (Tom! Voldemort! His memories… from a demon!), but he forced himself to remain conscious.

"You are," continued Voldemort. He smiled slightly as though the world had not just turned on its head. "Imagine my surprise… the Boy-Who-Lived, a Slytherin! My own House, offering succor to him who defeated me." The red eyes narrowed. "Cunning and ambitious… do you think I did not know why you chose Slytherin House? To escape your brother's shadow…. I can help you, Harry Potter."

He could _not_ be saying what Harry thought he was saying.

"Yes… Join me, Harry Potter, and the world will know who is truly great, and who is only a shadow."

Had Harry not been in a life-threatening situation, he would have laughed in Voldemort's face. Join the man who had killed his parents, tried to kill Mark (no, he realized, tried to kill _me; _that would take some getting used to), and ripped the Wizarding World apart. It was like some absurd joke- but it wasn't. Voldemort was perfectly serious.

Which meant that he really didn't know Harry as well as he claimed.

A thoughtful expression came over Harry's face. "Greatness," he muttered, as though to himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw Voldemort's expression brighten. "Yes," Harry muttered, just a little louder, "I would like to be great." He met the Dark Wizard's eyes. "What must I do?"

Voldemort's smile was a shark's. "Look into the mirror," he ordered softly, gesturing at a large mirror propped up against the far wall. "The Sorcerer's Stone is hidden within."

Harry walked over, looked into the mirror- and saw, much to his surprise, himself and Mark, laughing together, brothers again. Mirror-Mark, grinning mischievously, turned towards real-Harry… and held up a red stone.

Harry froze. Mirror-Mark just grinned more, and handed his stone to mirror-Harry, who put it in his pocket. In real-Harry's pocket, Sisith squirmed aside, making room for the stone which had somehow inexplicably appeared beside him.

Before, Harry had been trying to buy time, his brain whirring to form a plan. Now he had one. He hoped it would work…

"I have the Stone, my Lord," Harry said quietly. He reached into his pocket, wrapped his fingers around it- and Sisith. He nudged the snake upwards, hoping desperately that Sisith would get this hint- get _all_ the hints. If he didn't, he and Harry would both die.

Harry struck a semi-heroic pose, holding the Stone up so that it glittered red in the weak light. Sisith moved down his sleeve, quickly rearranging himself so he could see. **"What are you up to?" **the serpent just barely breathed, but Harry didn't dare answer.

"Will you take the Elixir of Life now, my Lord?" the young wizard questioned. "It would really _bite _if your _injuries _caused you any further trouble." The emphasis on "bite" and "injuries" was just barely noticeable; Voldemort hadn't seemed to pick up on it.

An eternity passed as he walked slowly towards the Dark Lord, the Sorcerer's Stone in his outheld hand. Sisith coiled around his arm. The serpent knew how hard Harry's heart was beating, could feel the thin sheen of sweat materializing on his skin.

Voldemort reached for the Stone, his horrible backwards body contorting in unnatural ways- touched it-

-and jerked back, screaming with pain and fury, shaking his arm in a futile attempt to dislodge Sisith. Harry's other hand convulsed around his wand- he had one chance-

"_Celeris dons!" _

Voldemort's red eyes widened in shock, and for good reason. After all, he'd invented the venom-augmenting spell for his own familiar, Nagini.

Then Sisith's venom reached his borrowed heart. The Dark Lord's face vanished from his stolen body- now a corpse- but Harry could still hear his voice, hissing in hate: "You'll pay for this, boy!"

For a few moments, Voldemort's presence was almost palpable. Then it faded, dispersed, vanished. But still his conqueror remained silent, pale and trembling on the floor.

"**Harry?" **whispered Sisith. The boy didn't respond. **"I think I hear someone coming. We'd better leave." **Nothing. Sisith slithered over, bit gently into the wizard's palm. Harry jumped, looked at him in surprise. **"Someone's coming." **

Much to the snake's confusion, though, Harry didn't immediately grab their Portkey. Instead, he pointed his wand at Voldemort's body and whispered, "_Incendio!" _The corpse burst into flames. Nodding, Harry reached for the ring- then froze. His eyes flickered towards a red glint in the corner. The Stone…

Sisith groaned as his friend plucked him up and sprinted towards the artifact. **"You idiot! We're going to get caught!" **

Harry dove for the Stone-

-and Albus Dumbledore stepped calmly into the room.

Harry and Sisith froze, not even daring to breathe. The headmaster didn't seem to notice. Nor did Snape, who stalked in behind him. Snape glanced at the still-smoking corpse critically. He nodded. "It seems the boy has passed your test," the Potions Master observed.

"Did you doubt?" asked his employer, eyes twinkling merrily.

"I expected," sneered Snape, "that, even trapped in the body of a mediocre wizard, the Dark Lord would still be able to handle… this." He gestured at the unconscious Mark.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I knew he would pass; however, even I did not realize how truly powerful young Mark is." He smiled coldly. "Such power will be useful."

"Enough about the brat," growled Snape. "Where is the Sorcerer's Stone?"

A trembling hand wrapped around Sisith. **"Hope." **

* * *

Wow! The first part of that was amazingly easy to write. Then Harry met Voldie, and it was like trudging through molasses. Oh, well, at least I'm finished.

As frequently mentioned in the series, wizards have no common sense. I really liked having Harry use his common sense to get through the tasks. Three cheers for common sense!

Did Voldemort seem IC to you? He just… didn't… to me.

_I would disagree, Voldemort seems IC to me. Why? It's simple, according to what he knows Harry is the real Boy-Who-Lived but no one knows except maybe the boy himself. More so, Harry is in Slytherin, which implies that he possesses some form of ambition. Logically, Voldemort decided to convert the one who could possibly kill him. That way he could get a powerful wizard to serve him and remove the only means to kill (at least according to prophecy). People tend to forget that Voldemort is cunning, depicting him as completely insane, so your depiction is perfectly fine. -Tetsurga_

About the whole "Mark is powerful" thing: the potion converted magic into heat energy. If Mark had enough magic to set Voldemort/Quirrell _on fire,_ he's got to be pretty powerful. From Dumble's POV, it makes perfect sense.

I wanted to add in another scene at the end, with Harry talking to Saysa, but everything I came up with was really lame, and the chapter was getting really long anyways. Oh well.


	21. The Sorting Hat's Curse

So close…. So close!

Warning: This chapter will contain slight OOCness, but it has a reason to. Harry's in shock in the first scene- I mean, how would you feel if you had the memories of the guy who'd killed your parents? And in the scene where Harry's acting childish, he's trying to fool the portraits. In summary, I have reasons for my OOCness.

* * *

_Compassion and determination, the Trial of Empathy. _

_Boldness and love, the Trial of Courage. _

_Hardship and self-knowledge, the Trial of Honesty. _

_Loyalty and mirth, the Trial of Friendship. _

_Understanding and sympathy, the Trial of Tolerance. _

_Bravery and knowledge, the Trial of Trust. _

_Forgiveness and resolve, the Trial of Wisdom. _

_-The Book of Hope and Despair, _Rowena Ravenclaw

Awareness returned slowly. First he was aware of his discomfort. Then the chill seeped into his bones, making him shiver. Then hearing returned in the form of a female voice asking, "**Harry, are you all right?" **

Harry didn't want to open his eyes. If he did, he would have to acknowledge what had happened last night…

"**I'm fine," **he muttered. That wasn't true, but it wasn't a lie either.

"**No, you're not," **Saysa replied. **"Harry, what **_**happened?"**_

The boy sighed, forcing his eyes open. **"Hasn't Sisith told you?" **he snapped.

"**I told them what happened,"** the serpent answered, "**but I don't know why you reacted like you did." **

Harry stared at his feet. **"I haven't told you about the Sorting Hat's gift… no, the Sorting Hat's **_**curse…" **_He spoke in slow, choppy sentences, explaining how the hat had given him an ability, how it had confused and frightened him throughout the year. How Norberta's ancestral memories had given him an idea. How he had come to care for "Tom," relying on the other's memories and experiences. How "Tom" had betrayed him… how Tom and Voldemort were one and the same. How he and Voldemort had battled over Mark's lifeless body…

"**Oh, Harry," **whispered Saysa. Her huge scaled body wrapped gently around him, trying in vain to comfort her friend. Sisith, too, and even Norberta murmured words of sympathy (though in the dragon's case, the words had more to do with abusing Voldemort than helping Harry).

Then the wizard remembered something else and jerked away from Saysa as though burnt. **"You worked for him!" **he cried, glaring with wild eyes. **"You helped him!" **He accused as more memories made themselves clear, memories of fear and death. **"And Myrtle- you killed her!" **

"**How DARE you!" **roared Norberta. **"Accusing her of murder- I oughta-"**

"**He's right." **Saysa's words were quiet, but somehow they were heard over Norberta's shrieks. The dragon froze, listening in horrified silence as the basilisk continued. **"When I was still young, Salazar placed a spell on me. A geas, a compulsion to obey those of his blood. We thought it would be a blessing then, and for a while it didn't affect me, but… Riddle was of Salazar's blood. I know that my master would be appalled as such a descendent, but the magic was still strong…. I had no choice." **The pain in her voice was tangible. **"But that does not excuse killing. I fought… I 'accidentally' Petrified my victims instead… I **_**hate**_** him, Harry, for what he did to me. Now, knowing what he did to you, I hate him even more." **

The Chamber was silent. Then Harry whispered, **"It's not your fault. At least, not any more than these memories are mine." **

Norberta fidgeted. Unlike her foster-mother, she hated long silences, and would often wander through the Forbidden Forest just for its background noise. An emotionally charged silence, she realized unhappily, was even worse than the normal kind. **"What will you do with the Stone?" **she blurted.

Harry shot her a filthy glare, but then his eyes become thoughtful. **"Let me visit Mark," **he replied. **"Then we'll take care of the Stone."**

* * *

"**This isn't going to work," **Norberta snapped. Harry ignored her. **"I don't know where they live or if you can fit on my back or anything! Besides, I don't want to. Find another way to get to the Flamels." **

"**How else could I?" **Harry demanded. **"I can't Apparate through their wards. I can't make a Portkey for the same reason. I can't fly on broomstick because someone would notice that a school broom was missing. And I'm definitely not walking." **

"**Norberta, just bring him to the Flamels," **ordered Saysa crankily. **"It will be good for you to stretch your wings." **

Norberta still didn't look happy, but she knew better than to keep complaining. Instead, she turned to Harry. **"How long will we be gone?" **

"**Don't know. Probably all day… they live near Hadrian's Wall."** Harry tried not to think of how he knew that, but the images flashed through his mind: Death Eaters in black robes and skull-white masks, waiting in greedy anticipation as their master struggled with the alchemist's wards… The boy shuddered, forcing the memories away. **"Let's just go, Norberta."** The dragon snorted but complied.

Saysa led the two unlikely companions out through the Chamber's secret exit. Harry blinked, blinded by the sudden sunlight. It didn't seem right that the sun kept shining when his brother was lying, lifeless and pale, in the Hospital Wing.

"**You're certain you can find the way?" **Saysa asked concernedly.

Harry nodded. Voldemort knew quite well where the Flamels lived. Saysa, apparently sensing his discomfort, said nothing more.

The young wizard walked over to Norberta. The irritated dragon lowered her neck until Harry could climb onto it. Then her head jerked up, bronze horns flashing in the sun. She ran… and leaped.

Harry couldn't help but feel better. Flying always did that to him, though normally he used a broom. Twisting around, he watched in fascination Saysa disappeared, as the forest's trees blurred into one indistinguishable green mass. Wind whipped through his hair, stung his eyes. Beneath him, Norberta laughed in delight.

Her rider leaned forward. **"Norberta!" **he yelled, voice fighting the wind, **"let me Disillusion you!" **

"**If you must," **she replied, not half as grudging as Harry expected. Perhaps she realized that a black dragon in the blue skies would attract attention, or maybe the exhilaration of flight robbed her of her sourness. At any rate, she let Harry cast the charm without protest.

Their flight continued that way for hours, silent except for the beating of Norberta's wings and Harry's occasional shouted directions. Scotland passed beneath them in a haze of color: green hills, brown-roofed villages, dark grey roads, multihued fields of flowers. Once Norberta pointed out a particularly large truck, and Harry tried to explain Muggle transportation to her. She simply snorted and muttered that dragons were much better than "those noisy heaps of tin."

It was almost two when they came upon the Flamels' estate. Hadrian's Wall had passed by half an hour ago, and Norberta was beginning to tire. She did not complain when Harry asked her to land in the alchemist's rose garden. Harry patted her shoulder sympathetically. **"I'll ask the Flamels for something to eat," **he promised.

"**I don't need humans to provide for me. I'll do it myself!" **Harry just rolled his eyes.

The extensive gardens were about half a mile from the Flamels' lavish manor. As he walked through them, Harry couldn't help but notice that many of the flowers were dead or dying. The surviving blooms were wild and untrimmed, even in the rose garden. It made him deeply uneasy. He knew from Neville that anyone who put so much time and effort into plants would never let them grow wild.

Flamel Manor itself was a massive Victorian estate. The walls were of white stone except around the drainage system, which was made out of fantastically carved oak wood. Gargoyles perched on the house's four corners, staring suspiciously down at anyone who might intrude. The structure's imposing wooden doors were covered in carvings and gilt, so thickly decorated that Harry almost couldn't find the knocker. He pounded on the door.

No answer. Harry knocked harder. He glanced back at the out-of-control gardens, and then knocked harder still.

Only silence.

There _could_ be a reasonable explanation, he supposed. They could be on vacation or visiting a friend or something.

"_Alohamora." _Harry's unease only increased when the simple locking spell succeeded in opening the famously powerful wizard's door. Memories swirled: in the war, they'd had much better defenses. He shuddered, shook them out of his head.

Renewing his Disillusionment Charm- really, that spell was quickly becoming his specialty- Harry cautiously entered the building. Nothing happened, but the hairs on his neck rose. Something should have happened; he should have triggered an alarm or activated a trap! Why was nothing happening?

The memories (oh how he hated them! But he needed them) guided Harry's steps. Nicolas and Perenelle's bedroom was in the west wing on the second floor. He walked slowly towards it, careful not to make any noise. If there was something in there, he wanted the element of surprise.

The Flamels' room was empty. Harry couldn't help but remember some of Dudley's old horror movies, where the hero discovered that his friends were missing only to be jumped by the axe murderer. He spun around, wand at the ready.

Still nothing.

"_Hominum revelio."_ A red beam shot out of Harry's wand, quickly splitting in two. It sped through the ceiling. Harry paled. He knew what red meant….

Three castings later, Harry stood in front of a heavy wooden door. This one, he knew, would not be so easy to unlock.

The boy hesitated. _"Hominum revelio,"_ he repeated quietly. Once again, the lights were red.

Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel were dead.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey smiled happily at her newest patient. Mark Potter! When Dumbledore had come in three days ago, eyes angry and dark, bearing the boy, she had been horrified. What could cover him with such deep burns? And he had had so little magic left in him; she hadn't known how he could heal.

But he had healed. Now he was almost ready to wake up. Nodding, Pomfrey turned to the other inhabitant of the room. "Harry, it's time for you to leave."

The boy jerked up, startled. His eyes, framed by dark circles, met hers, then glanced away. Poppy mentally "hmphed." Poor Harry's health had deteriorated as his brother's improved. He seemed even smaller than usual, had difficulty focusing, and she knew from Blaise Zabini that he'd been having nightmares. She'd tried to convince him to take some Dreamless Sleep Potions, but the child had refused. "This is something I have to work through on my own," he'd said, with such a quiet dignity in his eyes that the Healer couldn't protest.

Now those same eyes flashed with anger. "Why? He's waking up."

"Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with him right when he awakens. He wants- needs- to know what happened."

For an instant, Harry looked wryly amused. Then his expression returned to anger. "Mark can tell him that when I'm around."

Pomfrey sighed mentally. "Professor Dumbledore wants the situation as controlled and calm as possible. Anyways, it's not good for a patient to have too many visitors at once. It tires them out." Her face hardened. "Will you be a dear and fetch the headmaster for me?" It was not a question. It was a command.

Harry sighed and left.

Poppy smiled. It was good to see a young man so devoted to his family.

She busied herself with trivial tasks for the next few minutes: setting out a goblet of Dreamless Sleep Potion, rearranging Mark's presents (again), straightening his sheets.

A polite cough interrupted her tidying. She turned around to see Dumbledore himself, smiling benignly. "Harry got you, I see?"

"Actually, you haven't seen Harry all week," he replied, the smile still pasted on his face. Poppy blinked, confused, but then Dumbledore raised his wand at her. "_Obliviate." _

Pomfrey blinked, tried to clear her head. Behind her, Mark groaned. She started. "I'll leave you to your visit, then," she said.

As she walked out, Poppy reflected on what a horrible brother Harry Potter was. He hadn't visited at all!

* * *

Voldemort had not known Harry. Therefore, he had wrongly predicted the younger Parselmouth's moves.

Dumbledore didn't know Harry either. He, too, could- and would- be fooled.

Harry sat sulkily in the headmaster's office, doing his best to look like an angtsy child. "Stupid Dumbledore," he muttered under breath, conscious of the portraits staring at him curiously. "'You just stay in my office while I go talk to your _brother,_ little boy. I have the right to speak to him even before you.'"

The portraits muttered something about 'disrespectful children.' Harry smiled.

"Hey," he snapped at them, "I have every right to be disrespectful. He kicks me out of the Hospital Wing so he can talk to my comatose brother before me. What gives him the right?"

"He's the headmaster, young man, and this is his school," retorted a fierce-looking witch. She brandished her too-thick wand threateningly.

"Headmaster," Harry mocked. He stood up and grabbed a seemingly random object, jamming it jauntily on his head. "Look at me, I'm the headmaster! I can interfere in families whenever I want to!"

"_Masterfully done, Mr. Potter," _said the Sorting Hat.

"_I thought so myself," _he admitted, pretending to listen to the portraits' angry responses. _"But I'm not here to talk about my acting skills." _

"_I thought not," _sighed the hat.

The pain he'd been suppressing returned with a vengeance. _"Why?" _he asked childishly. Then, realizing just how immature that sounded, he clarified, _"Why didn't you tell me? You let me think that Tom was a friend, a grandfather…. why didn't you _tell _me?" _

"_I did," _the hat replied gently. _"I warned you that your ability was as much a curse as a gift." _

"_I know," _Harry admitted, _"but it's a lot easier to accept these things when you don't know the price." _

"_How true that is." _

The portraits had stopped ranting, were waiting for a response. Harry stuck out his tongue at them, sparking another lecture. _"Very mature, Harry." _

"_If they're yelling at me, they won't notice that you're still on my head. Back to business. Why me?" _

"_Because you had them already. They were just suppressed in the deepest, darkest parts of your mind. All I did was awaken them." _

The wizard felt sick. Those… _things_… had already been inside of him? _"But… how?" _

"_Because you are the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. Something went wrong with Voldemort's Killing Curse, trapping his memories inside your infant mind. You couldn't handle them then; no baby could. So you buried them as deep as you could. They waited there for ten years… until you needed them." _

"_Need them!" _Harry silently screamed. _"I don't need them! I was doing just FINE before you came along and broke into my mind. I-DON'T-NEED-THESE!" _

"_No, you don't," _the Sorting Hat whispered. The Parselmouth froze, eyes wide, not knowing what to think. _"You can survive without them. You can go on walking, talking, breathing. But Harry… could you _live_ without them?" _

The boy was still. Could he live… At first glance, the answer was obvious, but… Could he have escaped Dumbledore without Voldemort's memories? The old man wouldn't have killed him- that would have broken Mark- but he would have trapped Harry. Trapped him in the status quo, stopped him from shaking the foundations of Slytherin House. Slaughtered his plans for going on and fighting, fighting, fighting, for the goblins and the werewolves. Stopped him from living.

Maybe… maybe the hat _had _done the right thing.

"Get out of this office, you disrespectful brat!" yowled a portrait. Harry, who had quite forgotten their existence, jumped. Well, he decided, he obviously couldn't think with these… paintings… around. Shrugging mentally, the young Parselmouth took off the Sorting Hat.

"_Good luck, Harry Potter. Go and change the world!" _

* * *

Saysa lay coiled beneath Salazar's statue, her own private place. It wasn't exactly hers, but since Norberta had come into the Chamber, it had become her retreat from the hustle and bustle of parenthood. No, in truth it was the Lightning Speaker's, a library of all the prophecies the Founders had gathered and made. It was Harry's.

Three hundred and thirty-nine days. Months of fear and worry. What if the Speaker failed a Trial? What if he did not pass them in the requisite year and a day? What if he died? What if, what if, what if.

Harry had passed the seven Trials in just three hundred and thirty-nine days.

Saysa threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

Yes. The Flamels are dead.

It makes sense if you think about it. Flamel relied on the Sorcerer's Stone to live. He was without it from AT LEAST July 31st, when canon Hagrid took it from Gringotts, until the end of the book. Also, I find it highly improbable that Flamel couldn't have guarded the Stone himself; it's inevitable that SOMEONE tried to steal it in the 600+ years of its existence. That brings up another point: if Flamel clung to life for over 600 years, why would he suddenly decide to give up immortality? It makes no sense. Logically, the Stone must then have been taken by foul play. We know Voldemort wasn't responsible, which leaves us with only one suspect for the murder of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel: Dumbledore.

_Before I forget, I would just like to add the following comment: Dumbledore you meddling fool! _

_-Tetsurga_


	22. Brothers Broken

Yay! I finally finished my first book. Okay, it's an internet book, but that's practically the same thing. *performs victory dance* Thank you all!

* * *

_When the twins are rent asunder, _

_All the world will hear him thunder. _

_When the Spider takes the child, _

_Lightning flashes, free and wild. _

_-The Foretelling, _Salazar Slytherin

Harry hadn't visited.

That was all Mark could think of. That, and the sad look in Dumbledore's eyes as he'd told him, and the rage on Pomphrey's face when she confirmed.

He'd been in the hospital three days. Harry hadn't visited him once.

He'd known for a long time that they weren't as close as they used to be, which was, of course, entirely Harry's fault. The elder twin's jealousy had torn them apart. Jealousy of Mark's fame, of his power, of his friends. Harry had wanted Mark all to himself.

Oh, Mark had known all this for a long time, but he'd never dreamed that Harry's resentment went so deep.

Well, if Harry hadn't visited him, there was no reason for Mark to ever speak to his brother again.

And it served him right.

* * *

Remus Lupin shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at the sky. It was happening even without Harry, now. The lycanthrope could still feel his inner wolf stirring, restless.

"What is going on?" he muttered.

Around him, other werewolves seemed suddenly uneasy, as though a wind smelling of death had wafted through. "Did you feel that too?" he whispered to the woman next to him, a middle-aged brunette named Cynthia. She nodded, her dark eyes flecked with gold. Remus looked up at Tyr, and the elder nodded too. There was a touch of wonder on his face.

"Get back to work!" barked the Auror warden. The werewolves jumped. Most of them had completely forgotten that the ship from France needed to be unloaded.

Reluctantly, the laborers returned to their work. But their minds were far away from a damp dock in northern Scotland. Their minds roamed the woods in the light of the moon.

* * *

"**You're different, Harry." **

"**What do you mean?"**

"**That's the problem… I don't know."**

The boy sighed heavily, refusing to meet Sisith's gaze. His friend, understanding, left him. Harry stared into the sky with sightless eyes.

Dumbledore had won. The Flamels were dead, Voldemort was loose, and Mark… Mark hated him. Mark would be staying at Hogwarts for that summer, perhaps for six summers.

Perhaps was a loaded word. Harry's fist clenched. "Not if I can help it, you old spider," he whispered to the uncaring heavens.

Dumbledore had won the battle, but the war hadn't stopped. He hadn't won that.

The Parselmouth smiled grimly, his agile mind already plotting. Whatever the headmaster might think, he was not so easily beaten.

Harry turned, walked into the immense castle Hogwarts. Behind him, a flash momentarily brightened the sky. It was a comet, soaring across the constellation Serpens, as quick and brilliant as a flash of lightning.

* * *

In medieval times and even before, comets were seen as omens of something either very good or very bad (usually bad). Here… it's just an omen.

I'd like to thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates and constant blathering. And reviews, of course.

**Book two SPOILERS: **Harry thought that his second year couldn't be worse than his first, but he was wrong. Kidnappings, prophecies, and two Heirs of Slytherin are bound to keep him busy!


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